


Friends and Foes

by Susamo



Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [9]
Category: Perry Rhodan - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25757920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susamo/pseuds/Susamo
Summary: Atlan gets to meet Morenth, the gang's Sponsor and boss and gets a substantial further taste of criminal gang trouble in Makarsa upon Tela-vhelor. Karena is abducted by Tscheketh and his men, whose gang rivals Rhonn's and who is out to make trouble and fight for dominion over Rhonn's territory. They have to get Karena out of Tscheketh's hands and have to meet him upon his own turf...
Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753825
Comments: 5
Kudos: 1





	Friends and Foes

**Author's Note:**

> All Arkonides have red eyes and white hair and look like humans.  
> With excitement and agitation, an Arkonath person's eyes will easily water. Instead of ribs, an Arkonath has chest plates.
> 
> Upon Arkonath measurement of time, see the notes of my previous works. A prago is a day, a tonta is an hour, a minute a khela, and a second a sarton, a moment a mithron. A year is a Tai-Votan, a Votan is a month, a berlon is a week.
> 
> mehina-noble; adj, Mehina-the nobility as such (“the painted ones”, from Mehinda, ritual face paint, which stems  
> from meh’in da Khasurn, sign/line of the Calyx, the House). Mehinath-a noble (man or woman).  
> etho moasthénn-lit. “take (as) the first”-to choose. Ethe moasthenn mehan’ chevo par mehín’  
> daprag’-to choose the merchanter over (lit. more than) the noble any day”, proverb, can be taken literally in a  
> case or can be said figuratively meaning that one chooses something that looks to have less worth over  
> something looking valuable (implied is: the true worth is different, and what looks to be of less worth is more  
> valuable in fact. A proverb on choosing wisely, knowing about the inner worth and deceptive facades).  
> Milanthe chev’sah-lit. “to like better”, to prefer. Proverb: “ Milantho chev’sah mehan’ par mehín”-“He prefers  
> the merchanter to the noble”, “He likes the merchanter better than the noble”-he likes coarse fare better  
> than cuisine, he has a low taste, he doesn’t know what’s good and is an ignorant yokel. (That proverb, though  
> quite like to the one about choosing the merchanter over the noble, actually means almost the opposite.) 
> 
> mehindaith- lit.painted, ready (for fighting) , painted with the Gor-Mehinda, the Combat face Painting of the elite  
> nobles. “Mehiii-“ yell just before the start of a ritual fight or a formal duel to the death, meaning “Ready?!”
> 
> meh’in-line, symbol, Meh’in-zhy, the line of (spiritual) light, prana line. Gor-Mehinda-Combat face painting of the  
> elite nobles; mehindaith-ready (for fighting). Mehina-another word for “nobles”, “nobility”.
> 
> essoya-commoner
> 
> pakka-tho-a side-man, a protector, a bodyguard, a helper (especially in the Ran’zarak, the underworld of criminals)
> 
> pragolar-midday
> 
> gradschep-guy, chap, bloke, fellow, twerp. Short: grath’
> 
> mathya-alcohol, alcoholic drink. Mathol-sweet. Mathyaan-alcoholic. mat’yaya-intoxication, inebriation. Mat’yayath-  
> intoxicated, inebriated; mat’yayurtha-(mathyaya urtholay)total intoxication or inebriation, drunken stupor,  
> delirium. Mat’yayathol-drunkard
> 
> Hradschir Lakhros’ranton-by the hellish planet of Hradschir! Swear-word
> 
> Famkharton, m., famkhartona f.- sex-worker ; from famkha, sex
> 
> zakh’shon-damned, shitty. From zakh’she, Dark Star (meant is a Black Hole)
> 
> sa’yath-yeah, yessir, aye. 
> 
> daaayme chronner-eeeasy money
> 
> Payna zayna-lit. "crooked stuff", slang meaning good work, awesome stuff
> 
> Katanoi da Capit-the Katans of the Capit, the last five days of the year, time of celebration and holiday
> 
> thomkay-antigravo (lift or device)
> 
> -to have a Tashma’ hidden behind the Bench-to have an ace up one’s sleeve, unexpected resources one can throw  
> into the play to turn one’s luck (like a Deus ex machina). Tashmayim puppet theatre is comparable to Japanese Bunraku,  
> the animators sitting openly at the back of the stage,(on their heels upon a lightly raised podest, called the Bench),  
> operating the boards (like small tablets) for the puppets
> 
> yitha-victory. yithe-to win, to be victorious. Yith! Victory! Great! Super! Yithyn-gold, the Victorious Colour
> 
> The Shemantal da Karsha Sarpa, Serpent's Reach, and its inhabitants the insectoid majat, are the creation of C.J.Cherryh. All rights about that subject belong to her. 
> 
> koolantho dassyn- a “blue-robe”, (man), a man with a blue robe, psychiatrist, a "blue-frock".(psych-master; a medic, not  
> so much a psychologist of a Secret Service, who is called a psych operator. female: koolafam dassyn.

Friends and Foes

Morenth wore his hair in a quite becoming way, both elegant and rakish, as a well-to-do businessman with a strong sense for the latest fashion and raucous parties would do it, gleaming white strands not quite reaching his shoulders cut and sprayed around his face as if the wind had blown into them, turning the water of a quiet and stately pond into something moving lively and glittering excitedly.  
At least this was how fashion designers en vogue the last three Tai-Votani had described their creations when this latest strain of wearing one’s hair was introduced. An Eldrith, and any of the Thi and Tai nobles, never would stray from tradition and dignity far enough to allow even his younger nephews and nieces to have their coiffures arranged in such styles. But everyone else who had but money and leisure was tempted, one saw, and with some, it looked devilishly becoming. 

As that fashion did with Morenth, a good-looking man of middle age, casually leaning back in an easy chair, his legs comfortably crossed and his manner relaxed.  
Atlan did not buy any of that easiness and kept on his guard, as did Rhonn and Selaron, obvious by their posture. The presence of at least four pakka-thoi of the zarak-athor did not contribute to any feeling of leisure and security either. No-one kept guns trained at anyone else, but those Luccots hung ready at hips and were ready to be drawn within a Sarton. Whether they would be used but to stun was another question one could put to the stone-faced men-but one that would be but answered by action, if it came to that. Kreto, tall, lean, moving like a snake and looking dangerous enough had smiled when he had picked them up this morning, but that smile had not reached his eyes, though he was a fellow amiable enough, as Rhonn had assured his mehandor friend.

Amiable as long as he was not crossed and was obeyed on the spot, as Morenth had ordered it, ae yaeh, the young prince-Cunor Lant’cer-thought surly. They had not even been able to finish breakfast and had left the girls in some worry which was evident to his glances though they had tried to conceal it.

So Cunor the mehan skhe’ stood at parade rest, hands crossed at his back, chin up and presented a front as cool and tough as he could, which seemed to at least make the muscular men who towered up around him take him seriously. He had matter-of-factly been searched for weapons just behind the door as had the others been, who wordlessly had handed over knives and fist-metal and suspicious wires with handles, while he only had had his vibro-knife to offer. 

“Rhonn tells me that you are a kath-zarakh’, mehan’tho”, the zarak-athor said calmly and without any preamble. Secretly Atlan was surprised that he relatively politely was addressed both as a mehan without any depreciative appendage and as a man-simply and shortly, denoting an adult. How did Morenth estimate him, concerning his age?

“Te, to”, he responded as if automatically, then cleared his throat apologetically and amended himself. “Te, mekh’.” It would not do any harm to appear disciplined and obedient.

Morenth’s eyebrows lifted. “I have some mehan’ido myself”, he retorted calmly. “No need to stick to too many downworlder proprieties.”

The young prince cocked his head slightly and gave a little bow in acknowledgment, and let the zarak-athor look him over from head to toes.

“What are you specializing in?” A very business-like question, this was, as one asked it of the profession of an artisan one considered to employ. 

“Hacking a pamthol, gathering data”, Cunor Lant’cer answered promptly and as matter-of-factly. “To get there I’ve been taught to get through a ship or a building, getting locks open, disabling security systems and traps, or setting them myself. Sometimes I had to deal with whole systems. Depends on the situation, of course. Concerning fighting I’m a pretty good shot and can handle a knife. And then I’ve been trained at Dagor and hold fifth grade as a hertaso, currently.”

“Dagor. The real thing.”

“Te, to.”

Morenth inclined his head and sat up a little straighter, apparently interested. The elegant grey-black suit he wore gleamed softly in the light of the lamps. The zarak-athor was no friend of open windows with shutters up even if screens could be activated, it seemed. 

“Show me.”

“How?” Cunor Lant’cer did not change position or moved away, betraying no uneasiness while Rhonn’s shoulders had moved up a little. It was surprising how easily people could be read here, one saw it every prago.

“Defend yourself. Keep from going lethal.”

The young mehandor turned his wrist in agreement and immediately went into another stance, reckoning with all four of the pakka-thoi, as it seemed. What followed was true entertainment, Rhonn mused, as he watched. Like in the combat arena. Cunor was good, damned good. Two, and then three of Morenth’s pakka-thoi could not get through his defenses. He was too quick, and in this situation, within a relatively small space, his body, slight and short in comparison to the muscular fighter men, was to his advantage.

Neither did the men attack with too much force. This was a training bout all right, which let the young mehandor show off his skills, but no real fight-of course not. 

Suddenly Morenth held up his hand and rose. The fight stopped and the combatants moved away from each other; the pakka-thoi were a sight while the youth had much less to show for the wear. He sported a bruised cheek-the other one, while the one where he had been hurt the previous evening had responded well to Karena’s treatment and almost showed no trace-and limped a little. Of the men, one had his chest-plates almost broken while another’s nose was swelling and dripping blood.

Cunor was breathing heavily but seemed to be in trim shape still, and bowed slightly to the zarak-athor, while the pakka-thoi followed the gesture of their master and stepped back.

“Well enough done, mehandor”, Morenth said coolly. “I see that you have told the truth about your abilities. You could be useful to me. But I might consider a man of such skills a threat to me, on the other hand-and on this planet, it pays to be safer than sorry.”

His movements were too swift and unexpected for Atlan to react to them in any way, in time. Suddenly a force screen split the room in half and made him face the others through a transparent unassailable wall, while through the door at his back a huge man appeared.

“Kill him”, the zarak-athor ordered his executioner, in whose hand a Luccot gleamed. The beamer field blazed up at the gun’s muzzle-

Atlan never had reacted so swiftly in his life ever before. Whirling around, he let himself fall and came up at the man’s side with a roll within the next moment, a vicious kick snapping his foot into the man’s stomach while his one hand grabbed the gun from the murderer’s fist and the other landed a hit at his neck which connected with almost lethal force.

The man fell like an axed triap and simply vanished. Shocked the young prince stared at the empty floor before he realized that he had been had by an excellently programmed hologram, in his excitement not having noticed the small signs that should have told him that he was dealing with projected energy, not true matter and a real person.

“And you are doing better when you face the need to do so”, Morenth commented, approvingly, while he switched off the force field dividing the room. “That might have been a lethal hit if this had been a living man. Good enough. You will be of use to me, mehan’tho.”

Taking a deep breath the young mehandor straightened and stood with his back stiff and his chin up, hands clenched into fists, squarely facing the zarak-athor and staring hard into his gaze with golden glitter in his light-red eyes before he apparently consciously relaxed and slightly bowed in acknowledgment. Rhonn found that he had held his breath and blew it out, softly and slowly, and relaxed a little too.

“I have been told that I have a little problem concerning exercises, and fighting real on the other hand”, Atlan said, opening his hands at his sides. “It is true that I have been in only a few real fights, and few for life and death, before. I acted stealthily and undercover while my mother and my brother played Skorgi-chappai-for me and drew attention away from me to them. I was good and wasn’t found out. Yet. So I never had to go through a potentially lethal confrontation before. The latest few the exception.”

Morenth’s gleaming white eyebrows twitched as he heard that.

“I want to hear more about this. Not that I would be too nosy about my men’s private matters. But in your case, I wish to know better about how you worked. Your mother and your brother played Chappa for you? How?”

“That is a somewhat lengthy story and sounds a bit-ah-dramatic. I don’t know-“

Now the zarak-athor’s lips twitched in amusement.

“I tend to practicality, mehan’tho. Give me the bare facts without embellishments. Then we’ll see about drama, after. People most times think that their experiences are unique, knowing only their own story. But you might be surprised hearing how many others share like experiences. I suppose yours are no exception.”

“Yes, ser. Ah-“ The young mehandor obviously marshaled his thoughts, and then simply, in a matter-of-fact tone, explained:” My clan is-was- small, and has-had-but that one ship, the Lirela, the Songbird. On my card, I’m thirteen passed, and I knew little but my own family, and my ship. On Lepso my father never let me out to see the dock or the port. Otherwhere, upon stations or when we had a rendezvous with another ship, that was different. We are-were-mehandor, but we are different from the large families with their clan fleets, and neither were we based at Archetz, in the Rusuma system. Our home port was Orbana.”

Morenth inclined his head a little and sat back in his chair, apparently listening closely, but giving a relaxed and familiar front, motioning his new employee to speak on with a little gesture.

“My mother was from another mehan clan, as much I know. But my father never made use of that alliance, if alliance bond with another clan it was. My relatives on her side I never met or was told about. I only know that my mother died shortly after my birth and that her long-time friend, and acquired crew member, became my father’s second wife, Lesanna. She’s the only mother I have known and loved. Originally she wasn’t mehandor. I never was told where she came from, or what her family name was before she married my father. Perhaps I would have been told that when I became older. But that time will not come ever, now.” 

Cunor Lant’cer swallowed and went on.

“Mother told me about the world outside our clan and our ship. She brought her son with her when she came to the Lirela first, Kel, who became my elder brother and would have been my right-hand man when I succeeded my father after his death, he often told me with contentment. Kel and I were close. He protected me, and taught me, and helped me out if he could when I was in for a good dressing-down for an offense.”

The young mehandor took a deep breath and visibly had to overcome a strangling wave of emotion.

“Our family was small, and everyone had to take his and her part in trading, and at work. So I had to as well. My father dealt with information no less than goods and used data to get better deals and to make use of opportunities. Such data isn’t offered on open channels. So I was trained early, since I showed the talent, to get it while my brother and my mother covered for me as we were invited to gatherings and meetings and feasts. She could be damned glamorous and impressive. You see-“

Cunor went with his hand through the bangs falling into his face and threw them back with a short turn of his head.

“She looked like a model and could move like one. She knew all the behaviour and manners of the high society, and even the nobles and Kel had that glamour too. Mother once told me that she had been the mistress of an On, and had lived in a real mehin’Khasurn, with luxury and beauty and wealth and intrigue and finest manners and all that. Though she said that she’d choose the mehan’ over the mehin’ at any day.”

Morenth smiled sharply at this fitting application of the proverb and nodded at the young mehandor to continue.

“So there she had a son of that On, who was Kel, mehindaith born but a rejected scion, Shomahthon orth’, a bastard. His father never acknowledged him, because his family never would accept my mother into their ranks. Though they lived well enough together as long as she was in favor with Kel’s father, she said.” Cunor grimaced and opened his hands.

“But of course luck like that never holds good for too long. The On’s wife hated my mother and Kel, and when that On died and a nephew of that On succeeded to the khassa, the Khasurn Laktrote’s robe, because Kel who was that On’s only son was not acknowledged, she struck and had my mother and her son thrown out of the Khasurn. It was no use to protest that Kel would have been the heir else. Mother said that they had been lucky to get away in time before they were hunted down and killed. She took Kel and ran, she said and had the good luck to meet my father who would take her and her son in. “

The young mehandor laughed shortly, a little bitterly. “You see, ser, it was not like in the vids where the rejected son of the noble hides and grows to power and comes back when he is older, takes revenge and the Khasurn and marries the beautiful heiress. My mother and Kel were glad to live onboard the Lirela, she said and were better off there than in a Khasurn full of snakes and traps.  
So they knew the manners of the Mehinda and could move and dress and look and act and speak like nobles, and taught me to do the same. They were the glamorous glitter at every party, where I always had to appear as the good and proper and well-mannered dutiful younger son, far less interesting while my mother and my brother, more raucous and taking attention, covered for me. I slipped away then in time and retreated, opened locks, and crawled through maintenance tunnels and slipped through holes to hack a system and get into the data stores of a pametharkol.”

“So you worked as an elt’pamthole.” 

“Yes, ser. As I have said, ser. And as I have said, I was pretty good and didn’t get caught, though of course I am still young and haven’t done too much of that either, or on a grander scale, at my age. That was still to come, my father said. But before that, our ship blew up, and I escaped as the only one. “

“I see.” Morenth snapped his fingers. “Impressive enough, though. A pity that you didn’t get more experience-at your age. Exactly what age?”

“Ah-“ Atlan opened his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Here they were, at this question again. “I’ve been asked that before. More than once.”

The zarak-athor’s lips twitched in suppressed amusement. “I believe you, mehan’tho”, he retorted ironically. “That has of course nothing to do with the discrepancies any trained eye can see between your waif’s body, making you look no older than those thirteen passed, and your behaviour, your skill and knowledge, and the personality one meets in you.”

He rose and came up to the young mehandor, and slowly walked around him. Cunor stood calmly at parade rest and faced the zarak-athor squarely, looking into his light-red eyes with head up and back stiff.

“You are a curious mix of different and even somewhat contradictory traits, young kath- zarakh”, Morenth thoughtfully murmured. “That your relative age is quite correctly given with about thirteen passed is obvious from your height and size. But there the predictabilities end again.”

The zarak-athor cocked his head a little and smiled sharply.

“I have watched you on vid when you came here, and before that. You move like an adult, full of self-assurance confident of yourself and your worth, knowing yourself better than any kid does. You move forward purposefully as if you expect the doors to open for you automatically and every man and woman in the way to step aside.”

Atlan felt thoroughly cold and somewhat sick inside. Gods-he never had noticed those traits of his own behaviour consciously before. But of course, he never had looked at himself through the eyes of a common man, and neither had that been part of the psychological exercises Sek-athor Kehene had put his Imperial hertaso through. Because how else should the Gos athor da Arkon behave? What else should he expect of people potentially in his way, but that they would move aside deferentially? Yet this automatic expectation was in his own way, suddenly, in this environment and under these circumstances. Was he found out? Would the man hand him over to the KOLLOSS and the murderers of his closest friends?

“One notices that you were your father’s heir and trained for that, and the one the others gave way to even when you were as young as you are. You move like the little prince of your ship you must have been.”

Taking a deep breath the young prince met the shader chief’s eyes and held his ground. The man saw true, too true, but he interpreted wrongly and still was misled, thanks to all the Gods. 

“When not you move like a soldier deployed on a mission, cautious but surely not fearful, again purposefully going forward and ready to act and react, I saw that.” Morenth let his finger trail lightly down the youth’s arm. 

“The proportions of your body, mehan’tho, are not entirely those of a boy your-purported-age. You are a skilled kath-zarakh, with a muscular and well-trained physique, and that does not square with an age like yours. Not when you did not have to fight for your life day in and day out like our guys and gals of our wenadoran have to, here. That you grew up in a safe and luxurious environment is all too obvious from your skin and your hands, which show no callus but for that harder skin at the edge which reveals you being a fighter. Neither has your skin seen too much sun while you were working; that’s rather owed to basking in leisure in artificial UV, I bet.”

Atlan swallowed. It was not, but any Eldrith found aristocratic paleness more becoming than the darker colour of skin a soldier or fighter sported of necessity, especially if he had to spend his whole life shipboard. Part of the usual training was health care, which meant doing exercises in artificial UV light all right.

“Doing exercises in artificial sunlight, aye”, he answered. “But having to pose as a noble from time to time I had to show up with their fashionable pallor.”

Morenth’s lips twitched. “I see “, he breathed. “A kath zarakh’, then, who had the time to train and exercise, some of that time spent in long drifts insystem where your ship met others-was it not so?”

Cunor stared ahead, hesitated, and then met the zarak-athor’s glance with his eyes. 

“Te, to”, he murmured.

“I thought so”, Morenth said. He stood in front of the new employee now and looked down at him thoughtfully. 

“One needs time to learn and practice, and to acquire skills”, he said. “Rhonn told me that you surpass Aday’s abilities by far. As to learning and practicing how to act and move and speak like a noble, that would take time as well-and so would learning how to be a good elt’pamthole or a Dagor fighter who can hold his own against three of my men, or who can stop and eliminate a trained killer. Neither do I have reason to underestimate the quality of your general education. Getting accepted by sera Marneen one must have a certain level of skill and abilities to offer. “

The young mehandor slightly inclined his head, wordlessly. He could quite well see where Morenth’s assumptions went. Which was good, on the one hand, because the farther the man’s ideas were then from a certain Atlan tec’ Gonozal, Gos athor of the Realm, and that one’s age. On the other hand, it would make of Cunor Lant’cer a prime candidate for Morenth to have him work for him, which might bring said mehan’tho into conflict with law and police. Damn.

“Such education and such skills are not acquired in a life-time of but thirteen Tai-Votani, mehan’tho.” The zarak-athor’s voice was surprisingly gentle and unfortunately reminded the young prince of a massive Kasha Cat sitting with claws drawn in while it was readying itself to spring.

Cunor cleared his throat. “Perhaps not by the average pupil downplanet, no”, he agreed. Which he was not either, of course. One very well could manage to learn as he had done it, and that in a life-time of twelve Tai-Votani, not thirteen. But he had begun to be trained before he could properly walk, as soon as he could understand what was said to him, been taught by women and men having graduated-and teaching-at Iprasa, having them for personal instructors, and had a timetable that officially left no khela out. Recreation time had included many sessions with the pametharkhol and with Kelta on the one hand, with happy tinkering and with secret meetings of the children’s gang, and with the punishment he reaped for the pranks they had played on several people on the other hand. Which had done him a lot of good on the side of his mathematical education, Admiral Kenos once had said, in a very ironic tone.

He realized now how unusual this kind of upbringing and education had been, compared to the schooling of an average kid of the essoya kind. Not that the young Gos athor had not known that, in principle. But he had not been aware of how different he was from other kids his age-average kids, for at the Gos Khasurn the scions of other Eldrith houses were educated as carefully. Gods. There was a damn lot he never had known and realized before.

“Downplanet. That is the point we are talking about here, is it not, mehan’tho? You obviously have had more time to learn and train than those officially named thirteen Tai-Votani of your life. Looking at your face, and especially looking into your eyes, one sees that you must be older than thirteen. At least two Tai-Votani older, if not more.”

The young mehandor opened his hands. “I cannot say, myself”, he replied. “Comp had the data to the last click. But comp is a part of a cloud of ionic gas, now, and no matter if I am older than thirteen, and no matter how much, I am a stranger in a strange world here and do not know a lot of things others my age are aware of.”

Morenth smiled sharply. “In spite of missing knowledge here and there you are well educated and very experienced else, which skills we will put to good use. Though there are other things in life you are not so skilled at, as I hear.”

Were there well-concealed smirks on faces? Not well-concealed by Rhonn, at least, who dared to grin for a moment. So this was a hint at sexual ignorance, Atlan would lay any bet. Which should be no surprise with a boy not yet twelve, of course, but seemed to be one with a youth passed thirteen, on this planet and at least in this district.  
Or a young man suspected to be even older, at that.

“Mehandor people do not usually risk themselves with people not of their kind”, he retorted stiffly. “Neither are we too eager to start relations off too soon since a lot of matters come with them, deals for jumping ships and clan alliances. Before a sleep-over at a station, the Wives of both ships concerned must have had a look at the intended couple and must have approved, and closed a Deal. Sleep-over, for us, is not just a game for two. It’s a Deal and a Contract between two ships and two clans and needs some negotiating about who will change his or her ship and family after that before it can take place. This is not about just having a little fun, it’s about the exchange of genetic material, after all, and very naturally will form a bond between two clans, therefore.”

The men threw glances at each other, baffled. Not so with Morenth. The zarak-athor threw back his head and laughed aloud, apparently quite amused.

“Answered as a true mehan’tho, savvy. I should not be surprised. You obviously have grown up as a true mehandor lad, and clearly are mehandor through and through.”

Morenth stopped smiling and stepped nearer, looking closely at the young merchanter’s face.

“Though you do not have the typical look of a mehan’tho on you, I must admit. They usually are stockier and have features less finely and expressively chiseled. From your looks, you could be the scion of a noble yourself.”

Oh, Gods! Please, Daremmol, God of the mehandor, help! The young Gos athor felt quiet panic rise in his throat, stifling him for a moment. Rhonn and the people at the repair workshop of sera Krenna had accepted his statements and explanations about who and what he was without demur because they were ignorant of such matters else.  
Morenth was not, it seemed, and neither was he a man who would accept people’s words at their given value. He was used to questioning everything and was too right about that. Damn.

Cunor bowed slightly. “The features you describe, mekh’, are what one gets from the big clans like the ones of Cokaze or of Extan”, he said.” They fly with hundreds and thousands of ships and have their almost exclusive runs they serve. They have little need to close Deals of sleepover bond outside their own clan kin. So with keeping their genes to themselves they implement the subtle changes that have begun to appear with the last few thousands of Tai-Votani. You see how necessary it is to take such matters seriously.”

The zarak-athor’s lips twisted in an ironic smile. “I never have doubted that”, he explained gently. “Yet some smaller ship clans have begun to develop the same traits, obviously due to the exchange of genetic material, as you call it, mehan’tho. Some of them have even red hair by now.”

“Originally that was a matter of ritual, denoting the Semarudh, the Compact of Blood we all share and was just dye. But now, in this terrible war, where the mehandor are attacked before any other civilians, some of us have decided to wear red hair permanently in honour of our beloved dead, and by that, we say that we will stand with each other, come what might. It is a matter of honour, mekh’, as is our braid. We wear both with pride.”

Almost ceremoniously Morenth inclined his head. “I have not questioned your honour, mehan’tho”, he said. “Nor your pride. But you will have to admit that you do not look like the typical mehandor does-apart from your culturally applied traits like your braid and your clothes, of course. Your looks surely do not come from genes like the ones the Cokaze clan carries. Do you know better details about your ancestry?“

The young merchanter swallowed and then opened his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “As to that, I cannot say better than I have already”, he replied. “About mother’s clan-my birth mother’s, not mother Lesanna’s-I know virtually nothing, but the pictures I saw did not show her as a remarkable person. Likable, and loving, but no beauty as mother Lesanna was. I think I come rather after my father.”

That was absolutely true, which was the reason Atlan said this now, to be able to repeat the answer to that question in his sleep, so to say, no matter that it was a higher risk than saying that he came after his mother. There might be a picture available of Aloroy Lant’cer, while he could be relatively sure that no-one had a picture of his wife in storage.

“Hm.” Morenth had his silver brows up and seemingly was deliberating the matter. “About whose forebears you do not know anything either.”

“Cay, mekh’. Unfortunately. Taddo said he’d tell me when I’m grown, but-“

“Yes, I understand. “ The zarak-athor frowned. “Unfortunately indeed, and atypical for a mehandor clan.”

Atlan kept his mouth shut, and silently prayed to Daremmol to help him convince this too-clever shader chief.

“Though, in the Ran’Zarak we have a saying: Lenim ian wes iva nano kathynthen ve zarakthen. Fourth and fifth either goes towards the soldier’s grey or towards the dark of the Ran’zarak. Your father’s ancestor might have been one of them, a scion of a noble house like that of an On, a fourth or fifth son, which means an expendable son. Or he was the unacknowledged bastard of a noble like your brother was. And obviously your ancestor did not go to join the fleet.”

Which implied, just as obviously, that Morenth did not think Aloroy Lant’cer’s famed-or rather infamous- ancestor to have chosen honest trade either, but he must think him to have been a shader captain, a mehan-zarakh. Which the said Aloroy Lant’cer must have been in truth, if one took into account the facts that he was based at Lepso, did his runs between the Jülziish and the insectoid majat's territory, had had close ties to Ehrrett Jammun, Chief of the Secret Service of Lepso, had been observed closely by the Arkonath Services, and had died such a spectacular death together with his ship and his clan. 

“Excuse me, mekh’.”Cunor had his hands at his back again and his chin up, and stared at the zarak-athor in something like a challenge. 

“What does all of this, my possible ancestry and all, have to do with me asking for a place in Rhonn’s wenadoran and your protection for me in such a position?”

For a moment Morenth’s lips were compressed to a thin line.

“It has everything to do with the connections your father had, and the skills and knowledge, and the forging of connections I could ask of you, mehan’tho”, he retorted sharply. Then he relaxed and sighed.  
“But it seems that I must content myself with what you can offer me yourself, and take you at your face’s value. Which isn’t so bad a bargain.”

With a sharp smile, he reached out and lifted the youth’s chin a little farther, looking straight into his face.

“You look good, once one has removed some smudges and scratches. You might be a flower growing from the rubbish dump, Cunor Lant’cer, but a flower you are nonetheless. And the thorns are all to our advantage.”

He turned away and sat once more in his easy chair, and leaned back.

“So what else are you skilled at, mehan’tho? Concerning the social skills you could employ, impersonating the scion of a well-to-do family of higher social status?”

The mehandor youth’s hands opened again.  
“Well, I can dance passably, know a bit about Garrabo, and can converse about poetry and literature. And I can play the baliset, which I truly entertained my family members with, late at mainday before watch change.”

“Down here we call that an evening, Cunor.” Morenth was amused again. 

The young merchanter bowed. “As you say, mekh’.”

“Mmm. Well. Good enough, Cunor.” Turning his head he nailed the wenadoran’s leader with a sharp gaze. “Rhonn. He’ll do. Keep learning Dagor from him, and see to it he knows what to do when Tscheketh attacks. As to gathering data or other work I might have for you, you’ll be summoned before long by Kreto, mehan’tho. Keep yourself at the ready.”

“Te, mekh’.”

The zarak-athor gave a wave of his hand which clearly said something like “dismissed”, for one of the pakka-thoi stepped forward to open the door and gestured them to leave. Atlan bowed with grace, sending a short prayer of thanks to the wily and persuasive God of the mehandor, and followed the pakka-tho out of the building, with Rhonn and Selaron coming after. Wordlessly they boarded the battered old glider Rhonn had leased, which had been guarded by Enteko, and flew straight home, exchanging relieved smiles. The gang-leader patted Cunor on the back, who responded with a twisted grin. This interview had gone better than Rhonn had feared.

At the shop, a kind of routine was being established. Sukkar gave his new colleague and trainee a crystal to study each prago he came to work. The original offer of six pragos of work in a period of a berlon, which was a time of twelve pragos, was flexible enough for Cunor Lant’cer to adapt it to his wishes and the demands of sera Krenna’s repair shop. The young mehandor most times came in just before or after pragolar and stayed till Tokton, which was sundown also in Makarsa. So he did not have a full working day and was not over-taxed with the performance asked of him.

Whatever reservations or sentiments towards him might have been existent before, they had been cleared by the loyalty and the good work at saving everyone’s asses which had been shown by the young mehan’sekh. No-one called him a skhe’ anymore, which was a true change in attitudes, Arim stated with a grin.

The bodycam sera Krenna had promised Cunor was hidden in the clasp which closed Cunor’s shirt at the throat and would not be lost easily, she had promised, and neither would any data easily be extracted or erased. With the threat of Tscheketh’s bunch going to attack-whoever they were, and whatever they planned-Atlan was very glad to have a way to prove self-defense and his innocence to the police, if it came to that. So he thanked his boss very heartily and was slapped upon the shoulder with the admonition that he should just be careful, be damned careful, savvy?

Which was easier said than done, the young prince thought as he walked down the street to the hovertrain stop. He had to go but three stations, but the distance to the wenadoran’s lair was considerable, taken on foot and on an erratic course down lanes and up streets, beneath high transport lanes and bridges, and across deeper gullies consisting of the ways between the basements of buildings. It stank, down there, and it was no district for shopping either. There were bars down there, hidden hovels where one could get the really noxious stuff, Rhonn had warned, together with the madness consuming that dirt engendered in people of different kinds. Apart from brothels where sex-workers of different genders and species offered their graces, and whose offers were really exotic.

Atlan, who had passed through another district where sex-workers had offered their services when he had sold his wares to Tschetrum, had wanted to know the difference and was told that down at the old port the entertainers were relatively clean, under health control, and earning their fees for themselves, minus the commission fees they had to pay to their protectors or Sponsors, and the rent they owed for the rooms.

“Down where you travel overhead in the train, merchanter mate, that’s brothels, that means whole houses organized in one fist, offering more and better, if you want to call it that. And it all is so much more dangerous and noxious. More than one customer has not come out of these establishments but with his feet up and forward.”

Which was a euphemism for a person having died, the young prince swiftly realized. It was where Tscheketh held sway, a man who had started as lowly and simply as Rhonn, as the leader of a single wenadoran, though his had been adults from the start. Then he had had ambitions, and fought a street-gang war with two of his territorial neighbours which he won, enlarging his influence and his territory, and bettering his profits off more expensive deals. Now Tscheketh was aspiring to become as powerful, rich, and influential as Morenth was, and concerning his business dealings, he almost was, with the doze trade of this part of the district in his hands.

“He’s in with bigger bosses, the while Morenth stays relatively independent”, Rhonn had explained. “Our Sponsor is a man the whole district looks to, and Tscheketh is threatening both his territory and his authority. Up to now, Morenth has let him work up his way since he did not want a conflict with Tscheketh’s Sponsors, and his territory was just off what Morenth controls. But Tscheketh wants more, and now Morenth comes to the brink where he must react-or act preventively, that is. We have had more than one brush with Tscheketh’s bunch, before-but that was when his wenadoran was not that much more powerful than ours. Now, I fear, we no longer are upon the same level. It’s a damn bad feeling to know someone’s out looking for you, and you haven’t got the cover you need. Dagor’s going to change that now, I hope. I really hope so, Cunor, merchanter mate!”

At the first station after Teller’s Forum- the station where Atlan had boarded the train-a seedy-looking ruffian joined the passengers, reeking of alcohol-a heavily spiced h’ogoo must have sloshed down his throat, if not a series of them. He threw himself into a seat just opposite two young girls, feet wide apart, leaning there so no-one could pass him to get to the empty seat at the back of the compartment, and jeeringly grinning looked around, belching and spitting on the floor without any restraint.

The young prince was shocked for a moment, but after the encounter with police two pragos ago, and what else he had seen people in the crowds of Makarsa do and say, Cunor Lant’cer only snapped his fingers and smiled wryly to himself. Perkharnoi. Downsiders. Manner less vohjos and obtuse parangi, nothing more.

“Hey, you! Mehan’skhe! Cheated someone yet today? Only wait for me to get up, and I’ll make you pay! Won’t have lying frauds in our district!”

It took Atlan a few moments to realize that the ruffian was accosting him, though thankfully only verbally. The stink of alcohol emanating from that direction told of the source of the utterances quite unmistakeably. The two young girls got up and moved away quickly down the aisle, which left the young mehandor as the only one holding on to his grip in his standing passenger’s nook in the immediate vicinity. Other people were clearing the area also.

Slowly turning his head and looking the lout over Atlan but raised an eyebrow and then pointedly dismissed the man with turning away once more. Such a dispute was beneath him, and even far beneath Cunor Lant’cer. The man would not be able to stand straight, far less would he be able to make trouble as announced.

“Aeeh, braided honour! And even too cowardly to face a true man!” 

A short turn aside of the mehan’s head showed a thin smile on his face, which became a truly amused one.

“I’d think it a true feat of yours if you were able to get up without sprawling, gradschep”, he calmly retorted. “You’re neither threat nor temptation to me, Mat’yayathol. Go close your eyes and start sleeping it off, there’s a good laddie.”

Soft snickers from down the wagon told that the other passengers, safe out of the range of danger, were enjoying the show now. 

Of course, Atlan could have moved away as others had done, and duck out of the wagon at the next station. But that was not in accordance with the character of Cunor Lant’cer, and neither was it in character with one Atlan tec’ Gonozal, thank you all and sundry. That ruffian was, surprising to experience, rousing his anger. He’d had enough, here and there, and over-excessive prudence was no good in an environment where one had to show one’s teeth to stay unmolested. Ducking out would have invited further pursuit.

The drunkard showed a truly nasty smile. “Daring to answer me like that, a waif of a cheater, are you? Well, I won’t wait for the train to stop then!”

Suddenly the man had launched himself from his seat and stood almost touching his young opponent, not even swaying. Those light-red eyes were not clouded by drunkenness at all. Reeking to the stratosphere the man might be, but he could not have swallowed much of the stuff he had drenched himself with. A classic kind of deception, this was, and speaking of ill intent and an ambush from the start.

It had taken the young prince only a Sarton to analyze his situation and find his conclusions. Before the vicious swing of the attacker, enhanced by a sharp-edged ridge of fist-metal, could connect with his head he had thrown himself out of the way with a roll, coming up and jumping at the man who was only now turning, an odd-looking rod in his other hand.

Any noble would recognize such a weapon, of course. This was a modified aposzdazar, a disintegrator rod, which normally was used as a weapon for dueling at the Space Academies. Charkor owned such a one and said that a touch of these hurt like a greeting out of Hradschir’s hellish planet. Its name, the “hissing kiss”, was damn appropriate. Though not lethal, a hit from that thing could do harm enough.

Atlan’s foot connected with the man’s hip and sent him careening into the barrier guarding the door. But the ruffian was surprisingly swift in picking himself up, rolling around and going at his young opponent with the rod again with a feint, which the youth escaped only to get hit into the stomach by the attacker’s knee.

Rolling away Atlan wasn’t as lucky as before. With a triumphant cry, the man stabbed him in the back just below the left shoulder and had the satisfaction to hear the mehandor cry out loud with pain.

But instead of lying there whimpering the youth completed his roll with teeth clenched and retaliated so swiftly with a number of combined hits, delivered with his hands’ edges, that the ruffian got caught and had his whole arm numbed.

In the next moment, the young merchanter had grabbed the aposzdazar out of his grip and had stabbed him back, both armpits and the waist, which made the doze-stinking man fall to his knees with a howl of agony. He lay on the wagon’s floor curled up on the side after, hissing through his teeth, and obviously expected his opponent to make use of his helplessness. But there was no further attack coming.

“Now, ser, there are two choices for you. Next station is coming up. You can leave there and end this brawl. Or you can try to make more trouble, in which case I’ll call upon the police. What do you prefer?”

The young mehandor stood quite calmly, though his left arm hung down apparently impaired.

“Damn you, mehan’skhe, braided filth!”, the man rasped, but then he turned his head and grumbled hoarsely:” No police, they would not understand and make matters worse. I’ll get out if you don’t continue this.”

“I have no intention to continue anything of the sort you started.” Atlan spoke coldly, shutting off the disintegrator rod and stowing it away in his bag. The man followed this with a grim mien. 

“You’d better give that back to me”, he rasped. “Doesn’t belong in the hands of rabble like you.”

“Looking at you, smelling you and hearing your way of speech, I’d question whom to call rabble here”, the youth retorted coolly. “Move, mat’yayathol who isn’t drunk. Station’s approaching. “

The man stood slowly, swaying on his feet, and bared his teeth in an unfriendly grin. “Then you’ll convey Tscheketh’s message to your leader, mehan’skhe. Rod’s for dueling among the Mehina, I got told. It’s what Tscheketh announces to your fool of a head-man, and might the Gods have mercy on you all. You’ll be ever so sorry that you dared fight me, mehan’skhe. I’ll have your braid and your ears and every part of your body separately for that, and I’ll see to it you ‘ll stay alive and conscious to feel it, braided filth!”

With a soft thump, the train stopped and the doors wooshed open. Still cursing the man staggered out, not without a truly rude gesture towards his cold-faced opponent standing in the wagon, arms crossed, watching him go.

The people left in the train exchanged glances and hesitantly moved back to take seats, watching the young merchanter, who only bowed to the other passengers and calmly said: ”I apologize for the inconvenience, serai, seri. There will be no further altercation, I believe. Thank you for your understanding.”

The wary glances became friendly ones, and heads were inclined in acknowledgment, and thanks. With peace-and a less smelly environment –restored, the atmosphere in the wagon reverted back to a normally amiable one. People were glad to get home after long shifts of work, have their main meal of the day, and retreat to entertainment and rest.  
At least the others would, Atlan thought, examining his shoulder and massaging it to get feeling and motion back into it. As yet it still felt as if red-hot needles were stuck into it again and again as another wave of pain shot through it. Charkor had been right in describing this as a greeting from Hradschir’s Hellish Planet, and the attack was meant to be just such a greeting and challenge from Tscheketh to Rhonn if he gauged this right. The young leader of the wenadoran was not going to like this, he was sure of that.

But when he came in there was something else going on, and that wasn’t good either-just worse. He found the kids of the wenadoran gathered in the big sitting room. Rhonn was running up and down the place like a caged Kasha Cat, Irjona was sitting in a chair, feet up and arms around her knees, with her face all tear-streaked and swollen from weeping, and Selaron stood glowering, hands cramped into fists.

At the mehandor entering Rhonn whirled around and almost cried:” Gods, Cunor! Home at last! Is it all right with you!”

Surprised the young prince opened his hands. “In principle, yes. But I’ve had an encounter-“

“Gods! So has Karena! Have you heard or seen anything of her? A message been handed over?!”

Atlan took a deep breath. It seemed that he had not been the only one accosted. But to hear that something was going on with Karena was awfully disturbing.

“What has happened?” Cunor’s voice had become sharper, and he was frowning in worry.

“Looks like she’s been abducted. She had a client, four tontas ago, and should have been home at least for two tontas. But she isn’t. She left there, a hotel she frequents regularly, and the concierge saw her leave. But she didn’t make it to the hover bus stop, it seems. I can’t raise her com, either.”

“What!” The young mehandor took another deep breath and then asked a question by uttering a single word.

“Tscheketh?”

“Yes, I fear so. But how do you know-“ Rhonn found it hard to keep his emotions under control at least reasonably.

“He issued a challenge to you. Picked me as the messenger. Though the one conveying the message had a somewhat different concept in mind than the one he got realized, I bet.”

Taking the aposzdazar wand out of his bag Atlan threw it upon the floor at the gang-leader’s feet.

“I was attacked on the train, just half a tonta ago, with this. The gradschep was a ruffian, clad seedily, and stinking to the stratosphere of h’ogoo. But he wasn’t drunk at all, as I found when he accosted me and then went at me with this thing. He said, quote, that I should convey Tscheketh’s message to my leader, and that the Rod was for dueling among the Mehina, as he got told. He further said that that was what Tscheketh announced to my head-man, and wished the Gods’ mercy on us all. The rest was abusive garbage directed at me. He had gotten me at the shoulder, but I got him fully and downed him, and kept this thing as a souvenir. It is called an aposzdazar, and is, in principle, a disintegrator rod meant only to hurt, though it does that severely.”

With a very grim mien, Rhonn took up the wand and stared at it, then looked up. The members of the wenadoran were gazing at him with wide and fearful eyes.

“I was fearing for some time now that something like that would come to me”, the gang-leader said in a heavy tone. “After what happened to Kolyan and his wena’ it was clear that Tscheketh would go at us too. The only thing doubtful about it was the exact time.”

Exhaling deeply Atlan took a step nearer. Whatever this was all about-apart from a classic territorial gang-fight looming up-he had to learn everything he could right now. Rhonn and his wenadoran, and he with them, were in grave and immediate danger, as much he could see.

“What happened to Kolyan?”

“He’s-was-an acceptable acquaintance. We had our disagreements and brawls, but on the whole, stood on friendly terms. He was Kheron’s, once. That was his Sponsor, see, till that one got ousted and left. Morenth took some of his, but not Kolyan, who tried to get by on his own. Worked for a while, but- well, he lived downtown with a wena’ a bit smaller than ours, but most of them young adults. Three of them famkhartonai, good-looking and quite skilled, and good fighters besides. Karena was friends with them. They even worked together occasionally.”

“As famkharthonai or concerning other business?”

Rhonn sent his new friend a disturbed look.

“Both. She worked for Morenth, but sometimes also for her own pocket and mine if opportunities arose. Before she went into her business she helped out as a pick-pocket and someone who could get things.”

He went with both hands through his white hair in something like desperation. “When Tscheketh became bigger he went at Kolyan, more than once, and Kol’ retaliated by stealing a few things from Tscheketh. Including two men. Used the girls to get that, and in one or two cases Karena helped out. We got a tidy profit from it, one we needed dearly at the time. Seems it leaked out that Karena had her hands sticky with some of Tscheketh’s. And then she looks good and is skilled, young as she is, and she’s been getting better and better business. There are several gradscheps come to her regularly, and not the poorest stuff on them either. Things looked good for her and us, we thought.”

Biting on his lip Rhonn looked down. “Five berlons ago, Tscheketh sent word that he had it in for us and that we had our payday coming. Provided we refused to give up Karena to him. If I did, and she went to work for him in one of his establishments, with an option to serve him exclusively, he’d consider forgetting about my debts to him, and Karena could pay off hers with her work. He even promised that she’d not get hurt, apart from some more wear between the legs than now with increased work.”

Atlan stood frozen. He caught all the threats and insults in that speech well enough, ae yaeh. This Tscheketh saw the girl only as an object to exploit and make use of, not an Arkonath being who deserved respect and regard. Rhonn’s quiet rage even at quoting that message seemed to leak out of him like a visible cloud of red. If Tscheketh had been present when the young gang-leader had read his note, he would have been in true danger of his life.

With a deep breath, the tall Makarsan glanced up again and looked at his new mate.

“Karena’s my gal”, he said quietly. “No matter that she sleeps with so many other men. With a famkarthona, that’s not a part of a relationship package, that you fuck her exclusively, and you won’t screw another girl.”

It was hard not to choke at the choice of words Rhonn used, the young prince thought, holding his breath. But this was what was normal to the members of this wenadoran, this was how life was for them, and what that daily life consisted of. Gods. Gods gracious.

“Neither is it all love between us. I mean, if I can’t have her, I’ve asked Irjona, and others of our boys lie with both of them when they all want to and agree. We share everything, and that’s part of it too. Karena is my friend, a person I’d do anything for, a gal I owe and who owes me, who understands me as I know her inside out and no shame at anything! There are attraction and liking, and yes, some love, but basically she’s not bound to do everything I say save it concerns the wenadoran, and she’s free to make her own decisions. And if she won’t stay with me one day, I have no way to hold her, and no right. Though I believe that I’ll make every effort to convince her to do otherwise and stay.”

The young leader took another deep breath after this outburst. The other just turned their wrists. They knew their leader and stood behind him fully, it seemed, and knew well also how matters stood between the eldest girl of the group and their leader. 

“So now you know how matters stand with us, Cunor. To that damned note, I refused in no uncertain terms, of course, and we had a brawl with some of Tscheketh’s men since, but nothing serious. Till he moved on Kolyan.”

Rhonn swallowed. “It was a sneak attack in the night, and Kolyan’s gang fought hard-too hard, it seems. Two of Tscheketh’s died, and then matters went from bad to worse. They got Kolyan, and fried him on low-set Luccot fire for khelas before he died, howling and screaming. The girls were taken and disappeared, no question to those dungeon brothels, and the men either took up service with Tscheketh or they got shot. The two who had defected didn’t get a choice at it. Them he hung by their necks to choke just inside the hall, for all to see who came to view the mess after. Their two youngsters were left unmolested but for the injuries they sustained, and got taken in by another wena’ at the other end of town.”

“Gods.” Atlan rubbed his face. All around there were very serious miens. They all knew what a challenge by Tscheketh meant.

“What about Morenth? What about the police?”

“Well, what about our boss? It wasn’t his problem. Kolyan wasn’t his, and that I –and Karena-got our fingers sticky with the mess is our own doing, and will have to be dealt with by us first before the boss makes any move. He’ll support us if Tscheketh starts a real attack, and if true war comes on he’ll involve himself fully because it will be his territory threatened. But just for the sake of one famkarthona, he will not call out all his fighters, as much is clear, especially not since Tscheketh can claim first offense on her and me.”

“Ae yaeh, I see.” The young mehandor put his hands upon his hips.

“And now? Why did you get your fingers sticky-I mean-“

“You better shut up on that matter, merchanter mate”, the gang-leader growled. Then he sighed, and his shoulders sagged a little. “Thing was, I had Karena help out for Kolyan because I owed him, and we got a good profit. At the time Tscheketh did not look to be so much trouble yet, and I simply didn’t count such-consequences-into the bargain.”

Rhonn grimaced. “And neither did Kolyan. Turned him to grilled meat, that mistake. Before I see our mates in true danger I’ll rather fold and give in. But our case is different from Kolyan’s. We got Morenth’s protection and help if Tscheketh goes for us like a rock yilld.”

“But only if Tscheketh threatens his territory, a circumstance that is not yet fulfilled with but one famkarthona, as you put it, abducted and in a tight situation.”

Grimacing again the gang-leader snapped his fingers. “I know that he will say to me that she brought it to herself, and so did I. And he wouldn’t be wrong to say so.” 

“And the police?” Cunor wasn’t going to let go of that detail.

“Aww, zakh’shon”, Aday put in from the couch where he sat, his arms around a dejected-looking Algonia. “You can’t be seriously asking that question, Cunor. Didn’t you tell us about the zhyrroi, the coppers showing up at your working place two pragos ago? They went at you because they thought you easy prey, not because you were listed as a badass with them. One of them tried to get grease from you. Well, if you think such conduct bad manners, whatever police will come up with if you ask their help will be much worse. We have no proof that it is Tscheketh has Karena. They’d only tell us to wait till she comes back from another bed she has found for the night, and grin jeeringly. They won’t take action till they have a body, and then they’ll dismiss that body for something unimportant not worth their attention and time. We’re worth nothing, we wenadorani, to the police or dignified citizens, and they’ll just say that its good riddance if any one of us is killed! That’s how it is, for us here! You might know other places where matters go differently. But police, Cunor, here and now and to us, is an unfriendly face at best and a deadly enemy at the worst. Got that?”

Deeply affected Atlan turned his wrist. Matters were much worse here than he ever could have imagined, ae sa’yath.

“Still, didn’t they-I mean, with the mess at Kolyan’s-“ he asked hesitantly. Rhonn laughed shortly and grimly.

“You’d think they’d react for once, wouldn’t you? Yes, and so they did. Went through everything, made a big thing out of it, and closed the ledger with a complaint against unknown offenders. Everyone knew it had been Tscheketh, they just did not ask any one of those who knew. They took gene prints and the like, but they did not take the time to check them on a wider scale than neighbours up and down the street. They put it down to gang-war brawling and dismissed it somewhat along the lines of “as long as they kill off each other, good riddance”. And you know, merchanter mate, that’s how we survive here, wenai on the one hand and police on the other. As long as no so-called innocent bystander is harmed and no customer of whatever wena’ sustains any damage, we are pretty well free to do to each other whatever we can get away with, among each other. The law here, and the one who protects us, is Morenth. We only get lifted by police if someone influential wants another get hooked like Tscheketh could go to the local coppers and pay them well and give them information, and then they’d be out looking for anyone of us. Which is the actual next move I am expecting, and which we must prepare ourselves for. Tscheketh has money and can bribe the police with doze and sweeties and gals of every kind to fuck for free, and that’s another reason why none of them would go against him. If I’d complain at higher authorities, I’d be in for calumny. Kolyan tried that, once, and had to pay a heavy fine, and when he would not stop complaining got told he could tell the Tato. Fat chance one of us would get there alive, or even in such a case would leave alive. “

Rhonn threw his head back in denial. “ No. And then, while you asked about Morenth-the boss will play a cautious game with Tscheketh as long as he can. Because of the exclusive drug business which Tscheketh has inherited from one of his victims and has much enlarged since, he got business lines and deals with bigger chaps, up the line. He is even rumored to be in with people who have ties to the Corgon. That’s stuff too hot for most to dare handle; it’s as simple as that. And with that kind of doze and such gals he has the customers who can put in a good word for him, words that will be heard. There are only two or three of the mehina on-planet, and they are shaders as you and I. But an On, no matter he has gone to the Ran-zarak, you don’t make trouble with. That one still has his Khasurn connections and can pull strings one doesn’t know where and how, and sheesh you are disappeared without a trace. Ordinary law-abiding dignified citizens are not in the same kind of predicament. But we-we are. And even Tscheketh takes the greatest care to never touch any customer of such influence and rank. They are perfectly safe even when a gang-war rages through the building they are in because if any of those comes to harm, you’d be surprised how swiftly police is on-site, together with a unit of the KOLLOSS. And that, mate, is not what you’d like to experience.”

Cunor Lant’cer slowly took off his dark-blue spacer jacket, thinking hard, sat down at Aday’s side, and looked up at Rhonn, his hands open.

“Te, sav, maina. Yes, all right, I understand. So Morenth’s not going to help us before it gets so bad it becomes his own business. But Karena is in this Tscheketh’s hands even now. We’ve got to get her out of there. We’ve got to learn where, and how to get in and how to free her again. That means we need that data. Have you got that information yet?”

The gang-leader showed a wry smile, though a thin one.

“It’s what we have hoped you could find for us. Aday doesn’t dare on his own, for fear that any signal could be traced. But you, he said, might be able to lead any tracker away down the ducts. That’s what comes first, finding where she is, and how she is held. Anything else comes-later.”

The clenched teeth Rhonn showed for a moment, and his fists cramping hard proved how desperate he must feel, beneath the strong façade he displayed for the good of his mates. Whether they were buying it was another question; but for his sake, and Karena’s, they held on as did he. 

“Te, sav. Right, will do, in the instant. But Rhonn-“ the young mehandor leaned forward, intently gazing at the leader. “Isn’t there any adult help we could call upon? What upon the old military man you mentioned? Mexon?”

“Gods. Mexon. He’s the one I thought of first, of course. Turned out that he’s out of town, visiting a distant relative of his for some pragos. We’re so out of luck today!”

Cunor’s white eyebrows rose. He gave his boss a long look. “Interesting coincidence”, he mused. “Looks to me as if Tscheketh has picked this time when an opportunity presented itself, to implement new conditions. But if the presence of one man, experienced and capable as he might be, makes such a difference that Tscheketh would jump at the chance as impulsively as he seems to have done-then his position is not so strong and secure and superior as he would like to have us believe.  
What he did to Kolyan was brutal. But perhaps he just hoped to crush any other resistance beforehand. Kolyan was without a Sponsor and so no retaliation was to be feared. He was the perfect example. But if Tscheketh goes at you like that, he’ll be in for it, and I am sure he knows it. Morenth will have his eyes and his heart, I believe. So Tscheketh throws a stunt like this one, hoping to convince you of his superiority. Well, what he convinces me of, with that timing and the rather laughable threats spoken to my face by that seeming drunkard, is that he would wish he was so much stronger than you are, but he isn’t. He just hopes you’ll buy it that you are helpless.”

Rhonn’s stare had become intense. “So how do you know that Tscheketh jumped at an opportunity with Mexon gone, merchanter mate? How do you know this abduction of Karena’s is not just an unlucky coincidence?” he asked softly.

Atlan spread his hands wider. To him it was obvious. “Because Tscheketh has us closely watched. Proof the fact that it was me he picked to be the messenger of his challenge-though he intended me to be the message too, actually, with me lying on the floor of a train wagon, whimpering. Which was a scenario aimed at, but botched by the man who attacked me. As yet they do not seem to correctly estimate my abilities. Apparently Tscheketh did get his information on me from watching us, but not from police directly since the zhyrtelori know that I am a Dagor hertaso from their visit at sera Krenna Marneen’s. And Tscheketh knows about my working place. I was not accosted outside this house down this street, but on the train on my way home from work. I am the new kid on the block, and so it was me who was picked to carry the message, though I am with this wenadoran just for four pragos.” 

A sharp smile appeared on the face of the young mehandor. He gestured shortly but expressively, giving a contemptuous dismissal.

“And if that was meant to scare me away additionally, then they have failed there too. Tscheketh has shown his hand, and by that betrayed his lacking strength. I’d say we strike, as soon as possible, this very night, before he realizes that his aim was wrong and his hit at me did not square, and corrects the misfitting oscillation of his protector field.”

The gang-leader swallowed, and his eyes began to burn.

“Morenth said that you might be older than me, merchanter mate”, he breathed. ”This sounded very much like a very well-set and mature analysis of our situation! Almost tactical, like Mexon would deliver it! Perhaps we do not need other adult help than yours, Cunor!”

The young prince flipped up his hand in denial.  
“No, Rhonn. You definitely are older than me, and far more experienced with life on this planet. I just happen to have been trained to fight and analyze a scenario, it’s what my father has taught me. I simply know how to handle such matters better than you do because I’ve been trained for that.”

Grinning widely the leader of the wenadoran put his hands on his hips. “Well, then, since I’m your commander, I say to you, arbtan march, and bring me back my love!”

That was a quote from a popular vid series even Atlan knew and laughed at. The others joined that laughter, tentatively first but then became quite raucous. Relief with seeing the first glimmer of light on the horizon mingled with realizing that their enemy was not as powerful as they had feared. Things were looking better now that Cunor had come home, and the eldest boys could plan a true rescue.

“Intelligence comes first of all items on the list”, Cunor explained, holding up a finger. “Then we need equipment. I’ve begun with screwing together a few gadgets, but they have to be completed. With you and Selaron helping me, Rhonn, we should be able to get everything together within one or two tontas. Most likely it is that Karena is held at some brothel of Tscheketh’s. Does he have a central lair, so to say, or does he stay at several spots alternately?”

Enteko grinned at these expressions, and replied that Tscheketh most times was found at the “Blue Sphere”, a brothel of the most exclusive which also was a quietly known drug den of the highest quality.

“Tscheketh’s got that from Assaron, who ran that business successfully for Tai-Votani. But that one made enemies and was not careful to make friends, thinking himself inviolate with his connections. He became too arrogant and ducked out of his Sponsor, hired muscle instead, which was Tscheketh. And Tscheketh saw the opportunity and turned on Assaron after he had learned how matters went and made himself the boss. Assaron worked for him for some time, forced, till there erupted a brawl with him in the midst, and he got shot. His old business partners had become Tscheketh’s, who was very generous with handing out benefits and nights with a lady for free. So he inherited Assaron’s connections as easily. “

“So the Blue Sphere it is”, the young mehandor concluded, shortly inclining his head. He looked around, meeting the gazes of the wenadoran’s boys and girls in turn. 

“All right, folks, let’s get started. I need the layout of that building and that lair. Enteko, since you knew so much, can you get that for me as well?”

“Will do.” Enteko rose and went his way to the terminal with Aday. 

“Irjona, Selyke. We will try to sneak in, but we might be seen, or have to go in or exit openly. That’s a quite exclusive club, it seems. So we must look our possible best and extravagant. Can you find us clothes that would make do? Rhonn, and me-“

“Selaron, and Enteko”, the gang-leader supplied firmly. “No less, because we might have to fight. No more, or we would be noticed.” 

They all hurried to their tasks. The younger ones put on a meal and assisted where they could. Jhaftokan and Tirako helped Rhonn and Selaron get together the material Cunor was listing to them, and the girls put together their heads on fitting out the would-be rescuers.

Aday and Enteko could present good maps of the building and its environment within a quarter-tonta. Rhonn had a look over Cunor’s shoulder as the young mehandor viewed the lay of the land.

“Sneaking in is best”, Atlan said, indicating the guards protecting the entrances to the house, well visible upon the screen-shot.

“We could try it from below, which would be sewage tunnels and would not let us look good after. I’ll opt for coming down from above. They have scanners on top, but those look for energy. We will do it in a purely mechanic way, clamber down a rope from that bridge. It’s the train run, at that, there will be no-one noticing. To get there we must be careful about the trains passing. We’ll have a time window of two khelas to pass the bridge from that mechanic’s access.” He pointed out the slide-door.

“That door is locked and screened”, Rhonn observed.

“Standard model.” Cunor allowed himself a satisfied grin. “With a simple vibro knife and a skorge’ I can disable that lock and leave it open for us to get out there again. Though we should have another option. If we have pursuit hot on our heels, we’ll have to get out on the double from the area. In that case, I’ll make a stopper ready on a simple transmitted order.”

“A stopper?” Aday was all ears.

“Yes. It will stop the train with a faked failure emergency. The train’s systems will check and see that there is no malfunction, and the train will accelerate again and go it's way. That will take about two khelas. That time we shall have to board the train from the back door. I’ll have a coder ready to open that emergency door as well. Then we will be off faster than Tscheketh can pursue us, and we’ll be in public with the other passengers, no pursuing and attacking us off records.”

“After we’ve clambered up that rope together with Karena, who might be in a bad state?” Selaron threw in, doubtfully.

“No. To get up from the roof or from street level we’ll have to be faster than climbing. We’ll take a hoverboard with us that’s enhanced to carry five. It’ll be enough for one to ride the board while the other four hold on with but one hand. In zero-gee you do not have the gravity of the planet pulling at you.”

“I know about that.” Rhonn grinned. “Though I have not seen a gradschep ride a board while four more hung from it at the sides. Will be some tight space beneath, won’t it?”

“Only for a khela or so. Then we’ll be up on the bridge. The next train will be there within another two khelas. We’ll make it, I am sure.”

The young mehandor bowed over the input pad.

“Right. So much for access and exit. Now to the finer details. Aday, I have to hack Tascheketh’s transmissions first. Activate the shredder.”

The two ‘tronic wizards bent over their work, concentrated fully. The images on screen changed ever more swiftly, till Rhonn felt he’d have a headache coming on if he watched this for one more khela. But Cunor and Aday seemed to take for granted what flickered across the monitor.

“He’s running a double encoder. Good for him. But he has not set it on contradiction mode. Those two encryptions but complement each other. More convenient for the one speaking or messaging, because it goes more smoothly. But it allows me to treat those two critters like one if I do this-ha!” Cunor’s eyes glowed light red with triumph. Golden sparks seemed to dance within them.

“And daaayme chronner, we are in. That was easier than I thought. Of course, it’s prime interface still. We’ll need to get in deeper, which is where he should have a parthakkan waiting.”

“A sand-grubber?” Selaron was incredulous. Aday grinned.

“A hacker is an eltyan of the pamthol, right? So the one opposing an eltyan is a parthakkan, which is the eltyan’s prey in real life. With a pamthol it’s a protective program lying in wait for just such attacks as Cunor is making them, so-to-say “rolling into a ball” and blocking further access. It also would alert the system and give an intruder alarm.”

“So what you do will alert Tscheketh’s systems?”

“Shh. Not necessarily. Wait. I’ll have to have a close look.”

“Cunor’s sending in simple queries as if from automatic signals coming from freighters far overhead, passing at high-flight range”, Aday explained sotto voce. “That’s looking like stray emissions, what he is sending. For a time the system will be alert, then it will dismiss the signals for something insignificant, like background noise.” The ‘tronic kid grinned. “Ingenuous, that. Though one has, of course, to know exactly how to imitate such a freighter.”

“And something’s changing!” Atlan threw in, triumphant. ” See the oscillation readouts? The parthakkan has changed its search range to exclude the strays, not to have them interfere any longer with perception. Great. This is the shield we’ve made it swallow and which we’ll hide behind. Introduce first eltyan sequence.” The young mehandor grinned sharply, while Aday was already tapping away.

“Running, and accepted. See? Gods, that went smoothly. Cunor, you’re damn good. Damn good. I couldn’t have done this.”

The young prince gave his partner in hacking a short nod, his eyes alight. “Second sequence. On count. Three. Two. One. Implement!”

“Done.” 

“And third.”

Aday sent his new friend a questioning look. “Do we need a third? That’s slowing us down.”

“Not considerably. And we need backup to send it on a merry run-around in case the system wants us to give further ID. It’s mirror mode through the back door. After the third query, and before the first alarm, it will check for intrusion and malfunction like signals partly blocked. It’ll be sent in a loop to find itself and its query, and will answer it. So we get the system answering to and decoding itself. A lot like the mirror mode trick I showed you before.”

“Paayna zayna.” Aday was impressed.

“Ae yaeh. Hope so. Implement, please.”

“Got it.”

Rhonn watched with fascination as his two elt’ pamthole men burrowed their way ever deeper into Tscheketh’s systems. After four khelas the system became alert in truth and sent the expected queries-and matters went as smoothly as Cunor had said. The network opened up further, and suddenly Aday exclaimed:” We’re in! Gods, we’re in!”

“Observation cameras. Security locks.” Cunor’s fingers flew over his pad, tapping away, with him not even looking down. Instead, he stared at the screen in concentration.

“Here we go.” They all bent over the desk, Rhonn and Selaron looking over Cunor’s and Aday’s shoulders.

Most of these cameras showed the expected-in a brothel. The boys, having lived for years with a famkarthona with her own room and bed for work in the house spared only glances in passing at on-going joy. One image, though, got Selaron’s attention.

“There are two gals, and them blue”, he murmured. Must be quite the kick.”

“Amarynth ladies, with Bernal genes”, Cunor the merchanter answered matter-of-factly. “They have anatomical peculiarities that aren’t visible at first glance, but which make a ride with them an experience of the Gods, rumors say. And as expensive.”

“And is that true?” Rhonn was curious. 

Cunor grinned. “Kel my brother said yes. On both accounts.”

They snickered as they went through the footage of people horsing around drunk, taking doze, and going through their experiences up-graded, as the saying went, either having their joy with companions or lying alone on beds, literally dozing. There was a great hall where music and dancing went on, while in nooks people got to know each other better, eating and drinking and doing something else. One could erect an opaque damper field, but for the cameras these fields were transparent.

That, too, brought but passing glances. The boys only looked more closely at the women’s faces, trying to find Karena, if she had been forced to work already.

“She won’t be in the hall where she could too easily escape or tell someone of her plight”, Rhonn said grimly. “She’ll be in a private well-locked room, with guards nearby. If I know our gal all right she will have fought and spat into Tscheketh’s eye.”

“Gods! Look at this!” Aday could not keep from staring open-mouthed. “That one’s a man! And he’s not blue, he’s green! But look at that tongue of his! And what does he do with his fingers? Oh-“

“Not all of the Amarynth people are blue-skinned”, Atlan said dryly. “On their central world, on Toulminth, there are quite extensive deserts. Since hyper crystals could be mined there, however, they had to find a solution to get workers there. So they gengineered a group of volunteers and created the so-called lizard people. That man should have a tail too, seems he cut it off, not to appear too weird. Those fingers are sticky at their tips and have a suction function. He makes good use of that effect, it seems. Apart from that long tongue.”

“His customer seems ecstatic”, Rhonn murmured. “Looks like she is quite far gone. No wonder Tscheketh makes so much money with his establishments.”

He let his eyes roam farther while the young prince ran the images on. Suddenly the gang-leader’s hand cramped painfully around Atlan’s shoulder. 

“And here we have her. Gods, here she is! And that damned-to-Ereinnye slime bekkar fucks her bare-assed!”

That observation was phrased crudely, but quite accurately. Tscheketh, for it must be him, still wore a half-open shirt and had his gleaming black trousers of expensive material somewhere rucked down around his knees. That his behind was bare, and that he was in the process of sleeping with a woman, was also crystal clear and very well visible.

As visible was the fact that the woman in question was Karena. She, too, was not fully undressed, her shirt in disarray, her trousers lying ripped and crumpled on the floor. Very clearly she had fought, and very clearly she had been forced in a hurry by a man who would not wait. Her face bore the traces of hits, one cheek purpling while her chin had a cut and her left eye was swelling to. Her mien was one of disgust and quiet anger.

Tscheketh pushed himself up a little farther and almost casually slapped the girl’s face again, but with a force that threw her head to the side. Apparently he wanted her to move more lively, because she did, now, while the man went into the throes of passion for good.

“I’ll kill him”, Rhonn breathed, white-faced with fury. “I’ll kill him, and slowly! I’ll roast him as he did it with Kolyan, only much slower! Gods, that filthy bekkar deserves to die on the spot!”

Selaron laid a calming hand upon his leader’s shoulder. “Te, Rhonn, you’re right, and Tscheketh has it coming for him. But calm down for now. We need you clear-headed. She does! Besides, getting fucked is nothing new to Karena, now is it? The shame is that she’s not consented and is not paid, and is held forcefully and is being screwed against her will, and beaten into the bargain. But the act itself won’t hurt her. Tscheketh has neither thorns nor knives there.”

The absurd image actually made the young prince smile a little, and Rhonn let out his breath in a huff. “Noted, Selaron”, he murmured. “Noted. I’ll calm down, but only for Karena’s sake. And mark me, I’ll see that filth dead yet, and as soon as possible!”

“Aye.” With a consenting snap of his fingers Selaron looked back at the screen, and so did Aday, having agreed as matter-of-factly. For a moment Atlan felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Much as he might deserve it, this Tscheketh had just been cold-bloodedly and with minds as calm been condemned to death by Rhonn, and his pakka-thoi-for such Aday and Selaron were-had agreed to that sentence and to execute it. Tscheketh was a doomed man. Did he know that? Was he aware of that?

“Daring this, he proves that he thinks he can afford it, against us”, Cunor commented calmly. “He must know what you know, that with such an attack Morenth won’t move yet, also because you and Karena have your own part in this and have given offense first, and that we have no grown-up professional advice to guide us. This tells us that Tscheketh thinks such advice could be vital, to us, and might turn the table on him. Why would he think so?”

Rhonn frowned. “Meaning, mehan’pal, what might Mexon know about Tscheketh that could make trouble for him? If he told us?”

“Exactly. And also, how could Mexon help us in a way that would make trouble enough for Tscheketh?”

“Well, by his advice. He was an arbtan of the Fleet and took courses in strategy and the like. Saw much fighting in his time. Took part in a lot of actions. He was first of his unit at the end and served in that capacity for some Tai-Votani. He could have come up with a fighting plan like you are preparing it for us now, Cunor. Apart from that, he knows Tscheketh of old, and the one might owe him where we do not know it. And then-“

The gang-leader frowned deeper. “He was on good terms with Kolyan. That Tscheketh did that one in Mexon has not taken well. He would have fought at our side, and will if Tscheketh goes at us in full action.”

“Hm.” Cunor was staring at the screen and tapping away, having images coming up, enlarging and scaling them down again, mapping out a path away from that room Karena was held in, seeking a safe entrance and exit for the rescue group.

“Didn’t you say that Karena helped Kolyan steal something or other from Tscheketh?”

“Yes. What are you hinting at, merchanter mate?” 

“Do you know what that was?” 

Rhonn cleared his throat. “I never asked her, and she never said. That’s a matter of confidence and privacy, and a matter of honour that you do not ask and that it is not said, in the Ran-zarak on this planet, if you lend the services of a member of your wenadoran”, he explained in a guarded tone.

The young mehandor frowned a little and shot the gang-leader a glance over his shoulder. “That’s not as we handled it shipboard”, he said. “Well. I only meant, when I met her first, Karena had just filched a data crystal by Morenth’s orders from someone. That might not have anything to do with her present predicament, or it might. I gather it that in a case like that, when Morenth asks the one or the other one of your wenadoran to do something for him, you don’t tell each other either what this was about?”

“We do, in general terms. What he asks of Enteko and Selaron and me often has to be done by us together, so we know the details all three of us. As for Karena, when he tells her to steal something for him, we do not know more than that. Morenth doesn’t wish his affairs to be known, and he’d become hard on us if it leaked out that Karena talked, no matter to whom. And that includes me. “

Cunor turned his wrist in agreement and snapped his fingers. “So, there. She might know something about Tscheketh that Kolyan had had her steal. Or she might know something about Kolyan that might be of interest still to Tscheketh. Mexon might be in on that as well or might know of other interesting matters that could make trouble for Tscheketh. And then, in addition, Tscheketh might plan to make her tell about some things she knows about Morenth. This is no one-sided action of Tscheketh’s, or a double-sided one, where the matter is about her having revenge for a theft coming, together with her being useful as a famkarthona Tscheketh wants to exploit. This matter has three sides or more, depending on what Tscheketh knows about Karena and might think of grilling her for. But that he will try to grill her, and be rough about it-as we have seen for ourselves just yet-of that we can be sure.”

Rhonn glowered. “Don’t think that I haven’t been aware of these aspects, merchanter mate”, he growled. “Why do you think I am that agitated about this whole affair? I just haven’t seen fit to discuss the whole mess with you, yet. Remember, you are with us but for four pragos. You’re almost too clever for your own damn good, my mehan’pal, but we must take it and run with it, together, since you have jumped right into the mess of your own accord, now, and got yourself as sticky as me.”

Their eyes met, and they smiled at each other sharply, exchanging a nod. Atlan knew that he had entered a new level of confidence and familiarity with Rhonn. Whether this was good or bad he would have to see. One thing was clear: the trust he had asked for with this action being planned and analyzed by him now so closely he would have to earn this night, and he had to come through with full success. If he botched it, then the Gods would know what Rhonn would do with the merchanter chap new to the wena’ who had stuck in his nose so deeply where he had had no business and no obligation, yet. But that might be only the perception of the wenadoran’s leader, while the opinion of one Atlan tec’ Gonozal was quite another.

“Remember she brought me in, Rhonn”, the young prince softly said. “And you have accepted me as a mate in your wenadoran even near to you at the top, as you have said. You perhaps don’t realize how tight the situation I was in was for me or what losing my ship and my family meant to me, and being taken in by you, then. If you think that I don’t owe you to the extent I’m sticking my fingers in now, well, that looks different to me. You are like my new crewmates, in my eyes. And a mehan’ crew stands together and stands by the Deal, and keeps their word to each other, down to blood and death. That’s what I was taught, and what I have learned. Till I am taken in by a true mehandor crew sometimes in the future you’re my crew and my family, as are the boss and the employees over at the repair workshop of Sera Krenna’s who took me in so generously as well. I know that you use different words for such a thing. But this is how it is for me.”

The gang-leader’s white eyebrows rose, and he accepted the young mehandor’s words with an almost ceremonious inclination of his head. He seemed touched, and so did Aday and Selaron who were listening in. 

“Got that, Cunor”, Rhonn answered as softly, his gaze holding the young merchanter’s. “I accept that loyalty and allegiance. If you say you owe me like that, then it’s your right to do what you do, and know what you know. Just-keep that confidence, aye? We’re not used to trusting strangers that soon or that easily.”

That was a very clear reminder of what Atlan had thought of before. He would have to earn Rhonn’s and the wenadoran’s trust, this night. But if he did, they’d stand with him the truer, and most closely, and he’d have real back-up and safety with them. And he would need that dearly, in the pragos to come, if he had to face off against the murderers of the TONDON’s crew and their allies.

Grimacing, the gang-leader continued. ”As for Morenth, I know that he might be more interested in helping us with this matter of Karena abducted, his possible involvement considered. This might be just as well a preparation of a major move against our Sponsor by Tscheketh, getting information on him from Karena. I know that. But we will be thanked better by Morenth if we make a move ourselves first, without involving him openly, and then if we call him in and have no adult intermediary like Mexon with us who can explain matters to Morenth in terms our boss can accept and relate to, then Morenth either will do nothing yet, telling us to mind our own business first as we discussed it before, or he might see himself threatened with what Karena could spill on him, and then he will take everything into his own hands and blast in with a raider squad. Which will stir up so much dust we will be rubbing our eyes from tonight to the Katans of the Capit, I’m afraid-and where will that leave Karena? She’ll most likely be lost to us, either killed or being bartered to-and-fro between Morenth and Tscheketh in a kind of hostage game! She herself won’t be our dear Sponsor’s first concern, and if he thinks that he can’t get her out with reasonable easiness, he’s just as prone to have her killed to ensure his safety! No, we are down to our own resources, minus Mexon. But it’s plus you, Cunor, now. You seem to be our best hope. Get us in there, help us free Karena and get us all out, and you’ll have paid off the welcome you’re counting so high a hundred times.”

Atlan gave Rhonn a wide grin. “Te, to”, he intoned and turned his head to look at the screen again.

“Here.” He enlarged an image and pointed at the display. “We can get in there. That is a maintenance shaft leading from the rooftop to the second floor. We can clamber down the ladder rungs without activating the thomkay, and the system will not give an alarm if we do not activate anything to do with energy. A cold-light can give us illumination by chemical means. The lock on the second floor, leading to a maintenance chamber, I will be able to open.

From there it will be more difficult, and neither can we go up that path on our way back. From inside to outside several motion detectors guard that possible exit which I cannot disable without having an alarm rousing the guards.  
We shall have to openly go down the stairs to the third floor below where Karena is held. Since down there other sleeping rooms are situated we can pretend to be on our way to find the ladies we’ve booked, preferably happily leaning together and staggering a little, perhaps singing, acting as if we were drunk or up-graded. Then we will most likely not be asked anything, because we would not be able to answer coherently, in the first place, and in the second it would not be good for business to hinder a happy and eager customer on his way to joy. We are all males, so there can be no question on what we will be about. That we are there legally, so to say, will be proven simply by our presence, since we apparently have been let into the club and must have paid our fees.”

Aday giggled, and Selaron grinned. Only Rhonn nodded shortly and with a concentrated, serious mien. 

“Here is the area we are supposed to go, and here-“ Cunor enlarged the image again-“ is the corridor that leads aft, sorry, to the back of the building. This is where Tscheketh’s private rooms are. He has an office there and rooms to live in, as well as several chambers where special goods must be stored. Which gives me an idea.”

The young mehandor enlarged one picture and enlarged it again. It showed a kind of freezer rack, where a lot of differently coloured ampoules sat in small holders behind a transparent front. Lighted read-outs proved the freezer to be running and ceaselessly checking and maintaining the correct temperature and conditions.

“In there Tscheketh has what he would be sorry to lose”, Cunor said oh-so-softly. “Of course security is most tight, there. But the cam system is relatively simple. I can disable that for a few khelas from the main lock to Tscheketh’s quarters, preferably with the coder of a guard we have taken down, and if I cannot get that, then I have seen the terminal inside the lock. Those guards, of course, we will have to fight.”

“Easily done”, Selaron commented. “We’ve got guns. We can stun them on the spot, and anyone else on our way too.”

“Guns have reactor fields that can be detected”, Rhonn answered shortly. “We would be stopped and caught on the rooftop with that before we ever got to open that lock to maintenance. No. Cunor said mechanical, so we’ll have our metal fists and nothing else. But that should do. If we stagger towards the guards singing and laughing at them they will be confused long enough for us to have them down in no time. There are four of them, and four of us. We should be able to pull this off.” He smiled coldly. “Let us come near enough to them to spray them with hammer-gas, and they’ll be down for khelas. Cunor can apply one of his Dagor grips then, and have them be asleep for a longer time.”

Atlan smiled a little. Koshtol skyr’, literally striker fog, was a man-stopping spray known Imperium-wide, could down anyone and have him lie unconscious. As such it was harmless enough. But for its other and more dangerous qualities, it had been outlawed by authority. Hammer gas was an excellent fire accelerant and was used as such quite unabashedly in the Ran-zarak. The zhyrtelori of the Tai Ark’Tussan had reported an appalling number of cases where that spray had been used for murder or inflicting grave injuries by civilians who could not get their hands upon a gun as easily. And for that reason, the stuff would come in exceedingly handy. He turned his wrist.

“Agreed, Rhonn. As to that freezer chamber, I think we might use that to create a diversion, a little later in the action, to enable us to exit the building more easily. I’ll see. As for Karena, we only have to go to this bedroom-second to the left of the main corridor after the entrance-and open the lock, get her out, and run for it. We’ll have about ten khelas in which to accomplish that. Then the alarm will start somewhere, and we should be away from there and not show up on cams reactivating. We can go left-which will bring us to the main staircase-or go right, which will be the longer but hopefully less frequented way, and use the back stairs up to the ground floor. Either we can exit from there openly-again the singing and staggering group with Karena in the midst-or we go to the bathroom area here and open up the maintenance shaft you see there.”

“Won’t there be any motion sensors ?” Rhonn asked. 

“There are.” Cunor pointed them out. “But that shaft has no ladder rungs. It works by thomkay exclusively, which simply will not activate and keep us caught down there-presumably. But we will have the hoverboard and fly up the shaft nevertheless, in twos and one. That will be me, last one out. I will set a trap for any guard hoping to follow us on our heels. Upon the roof we will have to be quick. They’ll come up by other means and follow us. But with the hoverboard and the train as our tashma’ hidden behind the bench, we should get away swiftly enough. “

The gang-leader snapped his fingers decisively. “Right. I think we have good chances, doing it that way. Let’s see how Karena is.”

The girl was alone now, and just exiting the shower. Her face showed her bruises clearly, and other minor injuries across her body proved that indeed she had fought, and had been overpowered. But in all, she appeared unharmed-as yet. Tscheketh would start to interrogate her the next morning at the latest. There was no time to be lost. Rhonn’s eyes burned as he stared at his girlfriend.

“I’ll have that slime bekkar’s heart”, he softly said, in an almost hissing tone. Atlan’s short look at the older youth proved to him how enraged Rhonn truly was. It was true. Tscheketh would find no mercy at the young gang-leader’s hands the first moment he got a real chance to go at the brothel owner. 

“We’ll have to bring her a good pair of trousers”, Selaron pointed out. “The one she wore is in tatters.”

That brought another hiss from Rhonn, but he visibly pulled himself together. “Well, let’s get started”, he ordered briskly. “We’ll have to put Cunor’s gadgets together.”

“I’ll be with you in a Sarton.” The young mehandor let his fingers fly across his pad once more. “First we have to make a clean exit, Aday and me.”

They tapped away, conversing in low voices and phrase snatches hackers would use, and then Aday sat up and exhaled deeply, his eyes shining, and stretched.

“Done, boss”, he said simply. The screen went dark and folded down, the ‘tronic shutting off. It was best to officially not exist in the intranet for the next tonta, to have any poking probes of the attacked pametharkol fishing after residual radiation miss their mark. Aday had even promised not to activate the pamthol this whole night, and especially not to try to get into the system again to watch the rescue mission. That might betray them all.

Putting together their heads, screwing and soldering with a vengeance and tinkering away with zeal Rhonn, Atlan and Selaron soon had a number of items ready that would be needed upon this rescue mission. Cutters and tongs and wires and a soldering rod, a skorge’ just in case, a silencer which might come in handy when they attacked the guards, the gadget that should stop the train, lenses which upon blinking would let the owner see much enlarged-actually that was a tool bought at and adapted from sera Krenna’s shop-and very thin mechanic’s gloves completed the gear the young mehan’skhe equipped himself with, which earned him the appreciative glances of his new comrades. Rhonn had readied the hoverboard to Cunor’s specifics and hoped that they would make it with its help. 

They ate and drank, quite purposefully to strengthen themselves, and tried on what the girls had made ready.

With Rhonn it had been easiest. As the boss and representative of his wenadoran and the one called most often to attend on Morenth, he had a good suit of a pretty well dashing cut. It was of course a hand-me-down of one of the Sponsor’s pakka-thoi who had died in the course of his duty, which gift must have been meant as a reminder that of Rhonn no less was expected in a time of need. But Rhonn liked it. Black, like most of what he wore, it had a shiny collar and a dark matted pattern highlighted by the shiny fabric. The trousers had been pressed and had lost any stains and creases. That feat had been accomplished by Jhaftokan, who worked in a cleaning shop which also earned its money by setting clothes to rights again.

Selaron wore a light brown jacket and trousers of dark grey, which looked good enough on him with the scarf he had nonchalantly thrown over his shoulders to hide the unfashionable cut of the fraying collar. Enteko, of slighter build and having more youthful grace, sported a rather rakish look that concealed well the fact that rakishness and visible  
rips and mends were not voluntary and added later to some classy material.

For Cunor there had been three pairs of trousers and two jackets and shirts prepared. Irjona and Selyke had not known what would fit him and had done their best to give their new mate a good choice.

Choosing himself the young mehandor took up the pair of light-grey trousers and put them on before them all, exhibiting no shyness, but moving all matter-of-factly as if he was with his own family’s crew in truth. The shirt he went for had long sleeves with elegant cuffs, but a very plain collar. To make that look better Cunor took the collar brooch he wore on his own shirt and fixed it to the left of his chin, and shrugged on the dark blue jacket, which was of solid cut and make, but definitely did not look fashionable or remarkable in any way. The young mehandor looked into the mirror screen and turned slowly, watching himself.

And then he twitched his shoulders, letting the jacket slip down a little, turned the collar and opened the jacket halfway. His whole stance changed; and suddenly the suit looked like an expensive, exclusive thing, worn by a rich trader from high society, a young man who almost moved like a noble, dignified and elegantly, very much self-assured though without true arrogance. For a moment Rhonn was almost bedazzled.

But Cunor shrugged back into the jacket, wiped his hair from his brow with that little gesture of his, checked his braid and turned, the boy they knew back again.

“That will do well enough”, he commented cheerfully.

Rhonn closed his mouth with a snap. “Damn you know how to move”, he murmured. 

“And trained for it, tontas and pragos and berlons and Votani. Believe me, it is less fun if you have to repeat the same lesson over and over till your teachers think you perfect, or on the contrary, tell you that you never will reach perfection and that you are barely good enough.”

Selaron suddenly grinned. “Sounds like Mexon when he tries to teach us something”, he said. “When he comes back we’ll have to tell him quite a lot.”

“Ae, yaeh”, Atlan sighed. “Then to be able to do that we should pull ourselves together. Are we ready?”

They picked up their gear and stowed it away and stood, a group of young well-to-do lads prepared for a night out in town. Selaron took the hoverboard. Rhonn shouldered the heavy coil of the rope himself.  
“Let’s go”, he said, and they went.

The lock of the door to the stair of train maintenance was a hard one to pick, the gang-leader knew, and yet it opened easily to Cunor’s machinations. Before he had started the young mehandor had closed his eyes shortly and had concentrated deep down, breathing in slowly and exhaling heavily. Then, with a smooth step, he had come forward and simply opened the door, unbelievably swiftly, the vibro knife humming away. There was no twitch of fingers or hand superfluous. Precisely and surely those gloved hands moved and did their work.

In no time they were up and had closed, but not locked the door behind them. The young merchanter hid the stopper, readied for action, behind the mechanic’s lock. It would be enough to give a single signal by the coder ring he wore to activate it. That coder ring Jhaftokan had dipped in one of his magic potions, which made the thing look-and feel-like Luurs metal for a few tontas. The colour would rub off in time, but till then it gave the illusion of wealth and luxury.

“Train’s the better option”, Cunor said softly. “But it’s always good to have more than one way open to run.”

Rhonn snapped his fingers. He could but agree.

A train rushed by as they still waited in the nook, and another one followed half a khela later above the other track.

“Now. Two khelas”, Atlan commanded. They went after him, as outwardly calmly as was he. These three boys of this wenadoran had very good nerves and no compunction at all about a lot of things.

They clambered across the tracks, careful not to touch any line, and were up across the railing the other side before the next train wooshed by.

Holding on fast they knotted and re-knotted their rope to the railing and tested it carefully before Cunor went down, in a sitting position and with legs stretched out rushing towards the roof of the “Blue Sphere” almost as if he were falling. He had tied a curious knot before and made use of his gloved hands, of course. But Rhonn could not have copied this even if he had known how to do it.

The young mehandor was down and jumped to the ground, grabbing the rope and pulling it tight. Clambering down went swifter and easier for Enteko, Selaron, and their gang-leader then too.

Enteko, coming down, took over holding the rope while Cunor already ran on, ducked halfway down, and knelt to get the hatch to the maintenance shaft open.

The others followed and could smoothly go on in. The rope had to be left, there was no way they could bring it down safely. It would tell Tscheketh how they had found access, but they hopefully would never have to do such a stunt again, so that rope could keep hanging as a memento to a single dare.

Clambering down in cadence they kept silent and tried to be as quiet as possible. The motion sensors did not react with them going down, but outside of the hatches a guardsman might hear them, Cunor had warned. Two cold lights illuminated the space around them eerily.

Then they were down to the second floor and knelt before another hatch. Again they watched in admiration how easily and smoothly the young mehan’skhe got that lock open. That their new friend had been trained for Tai-Votani for that kind of break-in and break-out was abundantly clear, and in an environment like that wenadoran’s that was an asset one was avid for.

Cunor opened the maintenance door but for a tiny crack and listened with concentration. They heard heavy steps pass, and another pair of boots slowly walking down the aisle which stopped not far off. Murmuring could be heard. The guardsman must be announcing something into his com, but his voice was quite calm and without any agitation. The report must be a routine one, though the waiting it forced upon the four would-be rescuers jangled their nerves a bit. Then at long last, that second step moved away as well.

Atlan was the first out and held open the hatch while the others clambered after as quietly as possible. No-one was in sight. They had to be swift. Hopefully, no-one watched the cam screens in just that moment at this corner, but apparently they were in luck. It had been one of the two most dangerous moments, fraught with insecurity.

Immediately adopting the posture their mehandor friend had recommended the four youths linked arms and went towards the stairs, smiling and making as jolly an appearance as they could. Up on the second and the first floor the drug dens were situated, and this was what they would pretend to have visited. For average guests like them, the less glamorous rooms up here would have been fitting.

Rhonn gestured to the way to the back stairs while he bawled a somewhat dirty shanty with a quite melodious voice. The others joined the chorus enthusiastically as a guardsman came into view and just bowed, politely smiling, and went his way. The deception worked!

“Not the back stairs”, the young prince murmured. “If we go down the main staircase we do everything openly, and that way we stay more unobtrusive as if we gave the impression of trying to slink by. Stay in the open, act as others do, and we pass like the others.”

“Might Daremmol hear you”, Selaron softly replied while Enteko, last in line but more used to deception and fraud, went on with an easy grin, feigned weaving steps, and took up the shanty without a pause.

Out in the main corridor, there were more people, going to a like occupation or leaving, on their way to the steps. More than one person was as seemingly illuminated as were they, tottering and even reeling along the wall. The smell of different kinds of brew emanated from several mouths as they passed, and no guardsman or servitor tried to stop or question them. Rhonn was undauntedly singing, supported by Enteko and sporadically by Selaron and Atlan with the chorus, and in such a way, in the sight and hearing of everyone, they got down to the third subterranean floor where the famkhartonai waited for their clients. 

Still singing as happily and loudly they weaved their way to the entrance to the private rooms of Tscheketh and went straight to the guardsmen watching the door. The men came forward with little smiles and politely inclined their heads, and explained that the honoured guests had gone down the wrong aisle and should go that way, please, to meet the ladies.

Rhonn, grinning widely and opening his arms as if he would embrace the man went for the first guard, and the others followed suit waving and laughing, calling out as if to friends. The gas ampoules were already in their hands.

Then all went very swiftly. The guardsmen were perfectly surprised by the sudden attack they were subjected to. Within half a khela all of them were down and unconscious and none of them had been able to give an alarm.  
Rubbing his chin where his foe had landed a glancing hit before he fell like an axed triap, Rhonn straightened and commenced to drag his man behind the counter of the guard station. Even if no-one came down the corridor in the time they were within Tscheketh’s rooms, anyone watching the entrance via cam would see four bodies lie on the floor. This was the second moment of incalculable risk. Now everyone pulled out the thin gloves they had to wear, to minimize the risk of leaving gene prints. The guardsmen had seen them, and on being confronted would be able to identify their attackers. But without further evidence, it would be word against word if ever it came that far. Tscheketh would anyway know, logically, where to look for men to go at his lads in order to rescue and snatch back a certain young famkarthona he would find gone. But with the distraction Cunor had promised, even he might be lured off the track-as long as there was no hard evidence. And that they were determined to keep from leaving.

They managed to accomplish their task within the next khela. The young mehandor was already searching the men for a coder to shut off the camera system in the area, but none of the guardsmen appeared to be equipped with one. 

“Damn. More risk. Switchboard”, Atlan murmured and instead hit the tab at the counter. 

The door opened and admitted him while Rhonn, Enteko, and Selaron hid beneath the ledge of the guard station, hopefully out of sight. Through the open door they saw how their mehandor friend pounced for the boards at the wall and entered a few sequences, and then tapped away swiftly. Giving vocal orders was out since his voice was not registered as authorized.

It took another khela, and then Cunor gave a short wave. Ducking out from under the counter the three wenadorani scurried into Tscheketh’s private suite.

“Ten khelas max, two to get out”, Atlan said. “You’ll have five to get out Karena. Selaron, you come with me.”

The three boys snapped their fingers and ran with their friend. Everyone knew what he had to do, and where what was. The first stop was the door to the bedroom which opened after just one khela of Cunor’s swift but smooth working. Rhonn and Enteko pelted in. Karena’s cry of surprise and joy could be heard as the young prince ran on with his companion. The freezer storage was locked as well and cost another minute of work. Atlan counted the sartons while he ran in and punched the screen pad to show him the contents and their conditions.

Selaron heard the mehandor breathe a low-voiced “ha!” and saw a grin of triumph on his face as Cunor began to tap away and change dials and readouts. He ripped open the door and grabbed for several ampoules, golden and red-marked, while he let others be, and handed them to the wenadorano. 

“Put them away safely, Selaron”, he said. “They’re worth something.”

Then he almost closed the freezer door and asked the Makarsan to spray the floor in front of the freezer liberally with hammer gas, and went to do the same farther off towards other shelves, holding his breath and shielding his eyes. Selaron did the same. Atlan felt the sartons click away in his head and kept count. They had to be done before the cams came on again. He would have to erase the footage of the cams in the corridors by way of Aday’s pamthol the moment they were back home; as it was, they could be seen to have come to the area, and later Karena was gone, and hopefully, the locker room on fire-that was presumptive evidence enough to point them out as prime candidates for the offence. In court, not even only in Tscheketh’s eyes. He had underestimated the scale a real mission ran on, as compared to theory and carefully choreographed actions in training when he Ran a Room. Having seen where the cams were on screen, and ignoring them in planning, and walking past them and seeing them move was a very different matter when one realized that the attack on the guardsmen must have been covered and recorded. 

As soon as they were done the boys hurried out, closing the door, and ran towards the entrance. “One khela to go”, the young prince panted as they met with the others just inside the door to Tscheketh’s lair. Rhonn snapped his fingers, shortly said “let’s run, folks”, and off they were. Karena smiled radiantly as she saw her merchanter friend and gave him a swift nod before she sprinted after her boss, out into the corridor to the area of the famkhartonai. 

They cleared the place just before the cameras went on again, and resumed their posture of a group of drunk revelers. Only now they had a girl with them in a glittering pair of tights with a shirt barely covering her breasts, clearly one of the ladies of the establishment, booked for the whole of the evening. No-one dared to openly rejoice or draw breath in relief. They had to pull this off fully by getting out now. Their mission was not done yet.

“With Karena in this state we cannot leave by the main entrance”, Rhonn whispered to the others. He was right. At a first and second glance, she looked like a drunk famkhartona all right, but the guards at the main door would notice that she had been beaten and that she had on only an untidy shirt, but no jacket or cape. The trousers, folded tightly, had been small enough to be hidden in Rhonn’s pocket. An outdoor jacket would have been too much of a bulk.

“To the right, back stairs up to the ground floor”, the gang-leader commanded, and on they went, laughing and singing in snatches, and hurrying as unobtrusively as they could.

Halfway up to the second floor below they were passed by a pair of guardsmen, their faces grim and their hands near their guns. They made room for the men almost running past and were ignored, on Rhonn’s and Cunor’s sharp command managing to sing and giggle on. The young mehandor, swaying next to the girl in the line, had taken her into his arm, her head turned to him while he kissed her soundly, concealing her face and any bruise the guardsmen might have seen.

“Good. Onward!” the gang-leader said under his breath, and on they went, up the stairs to the second floor.  
But their situation was becoming tighter. The alarm, which could not have been avoided, brought more guardsmen down the stairs, and those went all by the back steps. On his own Selaron who was first staggered towards the main stairs which were seeing lively traffic of people going down or up, most of them men. It was the time of night when most visitors had taken booze or doze and felt up-graded enough to try a dance with joy, and the down below saw true business. 

Main stairs did not allow speed, but now it somewhat gave the security of the crowd. Karena had her face buried at Rhonn’s breast and was held fast around the waist by him, and Cunor had his arm linked with hers and stumbled halfway ahead of her, concealing her further. They got safely to the first floor of the below and went on straight to the ground floor. Things were looking better, Enteko murmured, and started another shanty. As yet their obvious drunkenness and good cheer, waving and grinning into every guard’s face, had truly saved them from being accosted or questioned.

But just as they had arrived at the ground floor their luck ran out. Tscheketh was aware that he was not looking for a lone hurt girl in scant clothes but also for some helpers of hers, who had overcome four guardsmen. Possibly he was thinking of but one or two-the guards had been downed by hammer gas sprayed into their faces, and had not been shot down or otherwise been hurt, which could have been the work of just one or two girls as easily as that of one or two men-but he knew that whoever had helped his prisoner still must be in the building together with the only halfway rescued woman. So he had ordered pairs of guards to keep the doors and sent others to go through every nook and cranny, scouring for the runaways. Everyone was looked at carefully, and in the face of such close scrutiny, Karena’s flimsy concealment would not hold good. The path they would have taken toward the bathroom and their exit was blocked by at least two of those searching pairs, and two more guardsmen were coming straight towards them.

“Turn, to the hall!” Cunor whispered fiercely. They had just come up the stairs and had not hesitated too long to draw attention, but if they did not go on they would, within a few more sartons.

Firmly Selaron turned and led the way towards the big hall where the sound of music and revelry came from. They had to weather this search first, and could hopefully take their escape route a little later.

Cunor guided them to a nook that was free and playfully pushed Karena in, holding her in his arms and bending over her, kissing her again, and so concealed her from any peep of the cams up above. The others piled in as well, and Rhonn activated the damper screen to let them have their privacy.

“We can be watched from above”, the young mehandor warned. “Karena, you must stay down and have the upper half of your body concealed all the time.”  
“Lie down on the sofa, and let’s pretend that we take our turns one after the other, the others taking their part, kissing and caressing you”, Rhonn supplied, taking off his jacket and heaving her up on the sofa, bending over her.

“Not that we haven’t done that before”, the girl answered softly, laughter in her voice despite the dire situation they were all in. She was full of hope and radiant that her wenadoran had immediately started a rescue mission and had been so successful to reach her so soon and in time. 

Enteko, for the sake of the cams up there, let down his trousers while Selaron drew down Karena’s pants to her knees. 

“She has to keep them on at least halfway to let anyone watching see that she wears tights the escapee did not have on her”, Rhonn explained, grasping the situation. Enteko lay down upon the girl and began to move in a suggestive way, though in fact, nothing of the sort was happening. The boys were none of them in the mood. The danger they were in took too much of their attention.

The while Atlan had found out that the damper screen could be modified to look transparent from the inside to let the occupants of the nook have the kick of pretending that whatever they were doing was happening in full view of the public.

“Ae, yaeh”, Enteko murmured, as he thought for a moment that the screen had failed and he could be seen and heard by everyone, and then he brightened, saying that this way they could see any searcher coming in time.

And that was happening sooner than they had thought. Only three khelas later two pairs of guardsmen entered the hall and began checking the nooks. They did so methodically, one pair walking up the hall on the left, the other on the right. Apparently they could see through the damper fields with the darkened glasses they had on, the way they stood and stared and then went on.

“Damn, damn, damn!” Rhonn swore as the men came up. Again, first glance would show nothing. But what if the men were not content with seeing that one girl with four boys was in there, but checked upon that girl further?

“I’ll draw them away”, Cunor threw into the dismay beginning all around. With fingers flying he untied his braid and combed his hair forward sloppily, opened his jacket, and turned the collar down to let it disappear altogether. Letting it slip a little down around his shoulders he undid the clasp he had pinned to the collar of his shirt, opened that too, and closed the open jacket at the waist with the clasp. With a single step, he was through the damper field and out of the nook, and as if by chance stepped into the way of the two oncoming guardsmen as if he had just come from the entrance.

“Just the men I have been looking for! A man like me cannot do without his personal guards in such a crowd. You will accompany me to your best table, please”, he said to the surprised guards and took their arms, turning them around to go with him at his sides. 

It could not have worked for anyone else, Rhonn thought, stunned by the mehandor’s brilliance at playing his role. But Cunor Lant’cer suddenly moved differently, with an elegance and self-assurance that did not allow for others to say him nay. It was obvious that he expected perfect compliance and could not have thought it feasible that the men did not immediately fulfill his wishes. The tone of his voice and the way he pronounced the words had changed also. The young merchanter sounded terribly upper-class and condescending, just short of the arrogance so many nobles were exhibiting when they spoke to common essoya folk.

Unresisting and apparently stunned Tscheketh’s men went with him and even obligingly took on the role of servitors, offering a table with a bow and following the young man’s tiny gestures as he ordered wine and some expensive food. Two beautifully arrayed women followed the youth’s inviting gesture and sat down at his sides, beginning to laugh at some witty remarks of his and getting served by the guards whom the just arrived noble apparently sent off in search of special delicacies and a flask of wine of the finest.

That wine he poured for the girls himself with unbelievable style and elegance while the men obligingly and with bows stood at his back waiting for further orders, while the young noble drew the girls out with his charm and had them even blushing. When one of the men made as if to leave the youth offered him and his companion a seat and gestured at the wine, holding up his glass as if for a toast, and the men could not get away yet but must politely follow the invitation.

“Cunor is damn good”, Selaron murmured. Even Karena saw, hidden beneath Rhonn’s elbow, and agreed. “But what can he do?” she asked softly. “As soon as he lets them go they will resume their search!”

“I believe that he is just playing for time”, the gang-leader answered. “Perhaps Tscheketh has another alarm coming shortly. Cunor spoke of a diversion.”

Suddenly Karena gasped and went stiff. Tscheketh himself was walking down the hall, smiling and greeting the guests left and right, apparently seeing to it the well-paying visitors did not notice that anything was amiss and that a search was going on.

Naturally, he noticed the little scene at the best table of the hall and went to see and greet the exclusive guest veritably holding court there.

“Aww, zakh’shon, zakh’shon”, Enmteko said softly. “Cunor will be in for it, and we with him, Oh, Gods-“

But the admirable merchanter was pulling even this encounter off with bravura. He just politely took the greeting of the club’s owner with superior grace and a little nod and invited Tscheketh with another elegant gesture of his hand, ordering the men to bring more of the best.

The club’s owner did not notice that he was being had, apparently. Cunor was charming the men and the girls at his table and seemed to tell a witty story because everyone was laughing. Then he got up and bowed to the most beautiful woman and held out his hand to her, and gestured to Tscheketh to follow suit, which the drug-dealer graciously did, humoring his exalted guest. They stepped out to the dancing floor where another piece was being started, and then everyone could watch Cunor Lant’cer dancing.

“Gods, the man can dance”, Selaron murmured, watching breathlessly. Rhonn was taking over from Enteko as the one pretending to sleep with Karena and took his place in a seeming hurry, also to conceal the fact that he wasn’t aroused. He was more ready to fight and run, he murmured, and heard the girl giggle softly. She was full of trust in her mehan’ friend, it seemed, and was as fascinated by the skills he was putting on display.

“Look at him, just look at him”, she breathed, watching well-concealed, while her pretending lover smiled wryly and said that this could not be love with a girl watching another man while she was being fucked, might Qinshora hear him. At that, the girl fought hard not to laugh out loud, and Rhonn could look out at their dancing mate himself.

It was simply true. Cunor Lant’cer, the mehan’zarak, the kath’zarak, the shader boy, was turning and moving with his dancing partner with gracefulness and refinement he had not seen with anyone before. There was beauty and restrained dignity in every step, true nobility without arrogance or haughtiness if one wished to call it so. A tasteful distinction, rhythm, and perfect balance. One could not easily find the words fitting for this kind of performance. The woman partnering the young mehandor seemed to be enchanted and tried to match her dancing companion. She did well, very well indeed, and was very unobtrusively guided by the young man. Still, she did not attain half of the harmony in movement his steps and turns attested to, in perfect cadence with the rhythm of the music as if he were one with the sound. Nobody, watching this young nobleman dance, would have questioned his attire as little fashionable or too simplistic. It rather gave the impression of a man dressing in a moderate and restrained manner, not wishing to show off, fitting the role of a young noble walking among common folk discreetly, almost incognito. It added a sheen of mystery to the youth and made him appear even more interesting and appealing, and important.

The piece ended, and Cunor bowed to his partner as if she was a mekhan one saw in a vid series coming from a great Khasurn, and with him, it did not look exaggerated or absurd, and not even extravagant, but very simple and natural-if such a bow could be natural in this environment. One saw the glittering Khasurn of this noble rise up in the distance, heard robot bands play music as they marched and saw an army of servitors in house-uniforms hurry to this young man’s bidding and his every tiny gesture, watching this bow and the natural elegance the young noble was moving with in the glittering blaze of the lamps lighting the hall. 

Tscheketh was courtesy and obligingness personified. Apparently the wily mehandor had him convinced that he was entertaining an On having visited discreetly. With an establishment like his, a brothel also serving most exclusive doze, this seemed to be only natural. The two guardsmen who had been drafted as personal bodyguards and servitors stayed by the fine young man’s side on a gesture of their employer, who with an oily smile offered the company of another scantily dressed lady who now swept in and came to the table with a becoming smile. Not only her good looks and her visible curves drew one’s attention. She was one of the blue-skinned women.

“Looks like Tscheketh is serving up his best for our Cunor”, Selaron murmured, impressed. “Means that for the moment we are safe, but Cunor is in the midst of everything! How will he get out now, and how will we?”

“Patience.” Rhonn was still acting the ardent lover. “I believe he’s stalling and buying time. We’ll see, hopefully soon.”

And soon was now, as it appeared. Cunor was still greeting the blue-skinned woman from Amarynth and bowing to her, seemingly enchanted, when another guardsman came running up in haste and whispered something to Tscheketh, who looked shocked and then rose, politely but swiftly greeting his guest and then left in a true hurry with his man. 

Cunor stood too and waved the others at the table down to wait for him, like any man who would take a swift break and would return presently, and elegantly, without any outward hurry came up the hall, giving a signal to his friends. 

“Time to bail out”, Rhonn said with relief and put his clothes to order while the others helped Karena, still covering for her, and followed the young mehandor who unconcernedly and easily walked to the entrance and turned to the restrooms. 

Eight guardsmen still watched the exit closely but none took notice of people coming from the hall just going to the bathrooms, who must have been checked by their comrades. It was surprisingly easy to disappear into the men’s restroom even with a woman attached. Two cells were occupied while the youths dawdled, washing hands and unobtrusively looking for the cams in here.

The two men left. Like a sand-yilld erupting from its hiding-place Cunor shot to the door and welded it shut at the lock with the soldering rod. Rhonn had Selaron heave him up and let him kneel on his shoulders while he demolished the first one and then the second of the observing cameras.

“Fife khelas at best”, he panted. “Folks, move!”

“Seven”, Cunor responded, throwing himself to his knees and cutting open the lock to maintenance. “The attention of Tscheketh and his people is taken somewhere else at the moment.”

“Thought so.” Rhonn took the activated hoverboard from Enteko. “What did you do?”

“Set Tscheketh’s freezer with his most exclusive drugs on fire. “ The young mehandor wore a small sharp smile at that. The gang-leader whirled to face him, light-red eyes wide.

“What?! How?” 

“Changed programs and dials and set it to overheat by chain-reaction and alternating build-up”, Cunor answered with a grin and pried open the hatch to the maintenance shaft, looking inside cautiously.

“Another cam”, he murmured in disgust and deactivated it with a swift stab of his soldering rod. “Though that one will do well for setting up the trap I have in mind. Speaking of traps: I had Selaron liberally spray hammer gas in that locker room too. Should be quite an inferno. ”

“Well done”, Rhonn said. “But hurry! We have to get out of here!”

First pounding sounds could be heard on the other side of the door, as yet perhaps but drunken guests who wanted to use the facility. Cunor slipped over to braze the door shut some more along the edges while Selaron made ready to hop up on the hoverboard. He was the one to open the hatch on the roof and throw the board down again set on quarter gee.

The wenadorani waited with nerves twanging while Selaron did his job. As yet their plan was working. Cunor was avidly tinkering away with the destroyed camera.

“Board’s coming! Selaron did it!” Enteko rejoiced and caught the thing.

“Karena on top, you below!” Rhonn commanded. Wordlessly his wenadorani obeyed. Time was against them now. The board whooshed upwards.

“Done”, Atlan said with a deep breath. The soldering had left some stink of burning in the air. Or was that coming from the ventilation grid, proof of a situation Tscheketh had three floors down?

The gang-leader had sniffed it too and grinned awfully, pointing at the board which had come down and was already hovering. 

“You on top, Rhonn”, the mehan’skhe proposed. “I must reseal the hatch behind me and activate the trap. Throw me a cold light.”

The tall Makarsan did so, jumping on top of the board and carefully shifting it upward while below him the shaft went dark with Cunor closing the hatch. The bluish light of the chemical lamp came on and the soldering rod hissed some more.

“Seven khelas gone”, Cunor murmured. “Time we move off. “ On the sides of the board, his fingers appeared as he held on from below. Rhonn set the hoverboard to ascend swiftly, and they were up on the roof in no time.

Below them in the street pandemonium reigned. Fascinated against their will the five youngsters looked down and watched a crowd of excited and frightened people rush from the main exit, halfway falling upon one another since many of them were drunk and others were drugged. From emergency exits the employees of the establishment were escaping, most of them wearing either nothing or having their clothes in interesting kinds of disarray. The scene could be funny if it weren’t somewhat disconcerting as well. Karena and Enteko giggled nervously.

“Let’s go”, Rhonn commanded sharply. “Diversion’s worked. Anything else isn’t our concern, at least not till we get home.” He sent their mehandor friend, who was still staring down with wide eyes, a long look.

“Got a chance to erase cam records at Tscheketh’s via the intranet later this night, Cunor? For if not, then the grudge Tscheketh bore Karena, and which he acted upon, will be nothing compared to what he will think of you.”

Atlan grimaced but held his hand up in denial. “I planned to erase everything this night anyway, not to leave any footage of any activity of ours”, he said. “Not that that would fool Tscheketh. He’ll know Karena is gone, and it won’t be a wild guess as to who got her out. As to Selaron’s and my detour to that chamber, the cams in Tscheketh’s quarters were off at the time. All traces and proof of any intervention are burned away right now.”

Rhonn’s eyes positively lighted up at that, and he gave his new friend a swift nod. They rearranged themselves beneath the board. Selaron took the top position, and up they went towards the train bridge.

“Guardsman has seen us”, Enteko reported shortly, looking down. A skorge’ tar would have concealed them, but the huge energetic blot they would have made on any screen, and the automatic reactions that might have provoked on the roof of this house, would have canceled that advantage. A bigger silencer might have masked the energy, but with so much equipment, tinkered together by hand and not done professionally, would have been one piece of luggage too many. 

“Quick exit”, the young prince advised, looking down at the men pointing upward, three by now. Tscheketh would know within another khela. No matter that he had taken pains to leave evidence to another cause for the fire, if they were caught then the Blue Sphere’s owner would swiftly think of them being involved. Which might mean their death, right and clean. With this result as spectacular as it was, an outcome which had not been planned to that extent, Tscheketh was not likely to be in a forgiving mood.

The hoverboard shot over the railing and descended at the nook they could hide in. Cunor was activating his coder the moment his feet touched the ground.

“One to two khelas to go to the next train”, he murmured. It was late in the night now, and the trains went only every fifth khela. That had been calculated. No train had passed while they had ascended, meaning they were in luck-

The train they needed was approaching, and slowing down. Right in front of the nook, it halted, humming, and came down to the track. This was going to plan!

Atlan ran over to the back of the last wagon, concentrating down hard. Beneath his feet the track run was slippery in the cooling night air. His success meant life and death to them, now. He had miscalculated the danger they were putting themselves in. He had been a fool and must do better now. He had to pull this off!

It took almost too much time in the murky orange light of the train’s signals. The lock on the wagon was more complex than expected and asked for another code the young prince did not have. It would have worked easily at an emergency, which this was-from the inside. From the outside, though, matters were reversed.  
At long last the door gave. Selaron shoved Enteko in, who dragged Karena after himself. The train lights went violet, meaning it would go on, while the door signal flashed yellow, saying matters were amiss. The small ‘tronic running the train would think now that the malfunction detected had made the back door open. It would detect them present there, hopefully thinking them passengers panicked and trying to escape. If they got on board again in a hurry, would it go on?

Selaron and Rhonn grabbed Cunor by his arms and virtually threw him in after. Frantically Atlan punched his coder a second and a third time. The door stayed open and did not close on emergency, which would have cut Rhonn in two as he squeezed in, followed by Selaron. They were in. Would the train go on?

Slowly the door closed, checked, and re-checked by the system. Everything was on hold still, and an automatic voice was informing the passengers of the malfunction. Through the windows blinking lights could be seen outside. Tscheketh had sent up his men, and they were just coming over to the train.

“Gods, go on, dammit to Ereinnye, go on”, Rhonn murmured, exasperated and nervous. “Dammit-“

But now at long last, the train was moving, slowly first and then accelerating to normal speed. Atlan, who had knelt just behind the door, staring up at its panel, let himself fall back into a sitting position, leaning against Selaron, and exhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. They had done it and were escaping for good. But it had been a close call, a very close call, and they had almost not made it. He had not calculated with margins wide enough, and he had not calculated the effect of his manipulations at the freezer storage well enough. He would have to erase every trace of their actions the moment they got home, or they would be done for still. This was a lesson to him, Gods be lenient, a true lesson. He got shown very harshly the difference between a well-planned and controlled action like the rooms at home in the Crystal Palace he had to run every third prago or the little pranks he had played, and a real combat action and mission, which had to be prepared with many more variables in mind. And a good number of unknown hazards in the bargain. Gods, he had been so naïve! Welcome to reality, Cunor’s persona in the young Gos athor’s mind seemed to say, ironically. Haven’t you learned well enough yet about real action with the attack on the TONDON? If not, then do so now, and swiftly. This is a matter of life and death, here and now. Sukkar said so, and Rhonn did. Got it, at long last? This is not about points off max. This is about pure survival!

“Got that now, I think”, Cunor murmured, apparently to himself. He was staring ahead, towards the now-closed back door. Rhonn could only guess what he meant, but the matter was relatively easy to guess. The young mehandor must be thinking about risks to be taken and fighting to be done for real. 

“You’ve done exceedingly well, Cunor”, he gently but firmly said. “You got us in and you got us out, and Karena we could free as well. That diversion of yours was a stroke of genius. It worked perfectly.”

At that, the wily mehan’skhe coughed and lifted his white elegant eyebrows in apparent irony and query. “If you say so, boss”, he answered. “At least it will have worked perfectly as soon as I have wiped all of Tscheketh’s cam records for this night. As a diversion-well, as for that the matter worked well enough, I suppose. Besides its other purposes.”

Now it was for Rhonn to raise his brows. “What other purposes, Cunor? What else were you trying to accomplish in there at all?”

“Well.” Atlan sat up and adjusted his jacket, back to the unobtrusive normal fit of an indistinct essoya, and held up his fingers. 

“One, the obvious and main purpose. The freezer catching fire was meant to be a diversion for Tscheketh, to give us time and make the guards look the other way, and create an uncontrollable crowd bailing out we could perhaps have joined in our exit if we had opted for that. Two, that freezer was of interest to me since it held quite valuable contraband. The doze in there was exceedingly illegal and as awfully expensive. I thought that we could do with some, to sweeten up Morenth and have him owe us if we hand him those ampoules as a gift, and ask for a commission fee, perhaps ten percent. We cannot sell the stuff ourselves, but we might keep two or three for our own purposes. Selaron has the things in his pockets.”

Rhonn took a deep breath. “Ampoules?” he asked deceptively softly. “Exclusive drugs?”

Cunor inclined his head. He stayed surprisingly serious. “Yes. Very much so. The stuff is of majat origin.”

“Oh.” The gang-leader was at a loss of words for a moment. Majat?!

“Then, three.” The young mehandor held up another finger. “I needed fire to erase any record of my manipulations. Whatever an independent cam might have recorded, whatever I did to that freezer, any hint that some ampoules might be missing, any gene material of Selaron’s and mine- is being reduced to ash right now.”

Atlan smiled sharply, adding another digit. “Four, I think we, and especially Karena, are due some payment and compensation from Tscheketh. Which is what I took from him that way, for what we will get for it from Morenth. And Tscheketh will have reaped some misfortune and loss as a payment for his actions, which is but his well-earned due. As well I think something had to be done about this upstart. He is making trouble for you and your boss, and the more Tscheketh is put down the better for us. So I have seen to it that Tscheketh gets into real trouble from another angle.”

Pausing a little for dramatic effect and smiling coldly, the young prince held up his whole hand, his fingers spread. “So, five. I set up the dials and the changed program in a way that it will mimic-has mimicked-a naturally progressing process of chemical deterioration, which might occur with such stuff if either the storage conditions are set up poorly, or the stuff was inferior and stretched by mix-ins. Or both. Which will have Tscheketh suspicious of his trading partners and suppliers that he has been cheated by them. He’ll charge them with fraud; they will respond that it has been him who did not store the goods properly. At the least his business relations will be soured. At best it’ll be the beginning of his downfall. He’ll also have a conflict going with someone else than us and Morenth which will use up some of his attention and energies and time and will give us some breathing space. Hopefully.”

Selaron and Enteko had fascinated smiles on their faces, and Karena was doubtlessly downright admiring. She knelt and kissed her rescuer soundly on the mouth. “Well-done, oh, well-done, Cunor”, she said, and gave the merchanter boy another kiss which was less sisterly and had more sweetness to it. Selaron grinned widely as he saw a tell-tale flush creep into the cheeks of their space-born friend.

Rhonn nodded shortly, but his mien was more thoughtful than admiring. “We’ll have a little talk between us on the matter later this day, Cunor”, he said and caught how the mehandor’s eyes were widening at that. 

For a moment Atlan was afraid that Rhonn had found him out. But that could not be, since the wenadoran’s boss now stretched out his hand and helped him up, grinned, and winked at him.

“Station’s coming up”, the gang-leader said. “We’ll slip out and take the next train home. So we won’t be in here if that train is held up once more and investigated more closely.”

Which proved to be an extremely good idea. Having slunk out and mixed with the passengers leaving, they noticed that a robot commando with a few officers of the police were entering the train at the other end’s cockpit, ready to come out inside the moment the train was moving again. 

“Let’s walk home”, Enteko suggested. “I don’t feel safe with boarding another train tonight. They’ve caught on very swiftly that the malfunctioning stop wasn’t an accident!”

“Not with the altercation at the “Blue Sphere” right where the train was held up, it seems”, Atlan murmured as they left the station together with a group of at least ten others. 

“Fireguard and police should be there right now, I believe”, Rhonn added. “With the fire growing and spreading so far and so much that Tscheketh had to evacuate the building they will have become alert. Our Tscheketh will have the cops going through his drugs and his ladies right now. Oh, joy. This is even better!” The gang-leader’s light red eyes were glowing with unholy glee in the light of the street lamps.

Cunor only grimaced, but he did not comment. He knew that Tscheketh had been said to be in with police in his district. He would not be arrested, but he would have to issue a lot of very good bribes to keep the matter hushed up. Which meant that the cost of this night to him was rocketing up to the sky, further and swifter than ever expected. They had to get home on the double, for him to erase all of the cam footage. Luckily the area here was not hostile to them as it already was under Morenth’s control.

Karena’s homecoming, and that of her knightly successful rescuers, was the triumph everyone had hoped for. They were hugged, squealed at, kissed, and feted with a few cans of Sultri’onn, a brew that was highly sugared and quite alcoholic. Atlan refused to drink, but Rhonn and Selaron happily downed their share, and so did Karena.

“Aday!” The youngster immediately heeded the call to arms Cunor was sending, waving imperatively. 

“Sorry, mate.” The young mehandor’s mien and his voice conveyed real urgency. “We’ve been successful so far. But our task isn’t done yet. You and I, we have to do a most important mop-up, or we’ll have the sight of guns’ muzzles trained at us as early as sun-up in the morning. I need your help!”

“Say say, Cunor. Right away.” The two ‘tronic wizards hurried to Aday’s place of operating and disappeared behind that shabby sliding door.  
Rhonn celebrated with the others without pulling back but kept an eye trained to that closed door. When neither Aday nor Cunor reappeared after a quarter tonta he unobtrusively disentangled himself from the celebrating knot of youngsters and had a look at his ‘tronic whizz’ kids.

The atmosphere in here was far different from the relaxed joyful one outside in the hall. Cunor and Aday were staring with concentration at their screens and were tapping away wildly, exchanging words sparingly and in snatches of pamthol’s speech. The voice input was deactivated to let them converse; the tension in the room was palpable. 

“Cunor! They’re catching on!” Aday’s voice had an uncharacteristically high tone of near-panic to it. Instinctively Rhonn’s fists clenched seeking a target to fight. What was going on?

“Calm. Calm down. Not yet. They’re searching and have found the smell of a brekkar. But not yet any tracks and by no means it’s tail. Keep on erasing. I’ll implement the split-probe.”

“But they-“ 

“Erase section three. Execute!” The young mehandor’s voice was pure command, and Aday obeyed without hesitation, taking a deep breath.

“Good. Splitter implemented. Started.” 

How could Cunor stay so calm when Aday nearly was freaking out? The gang-leader never had seen his elt’pamthole so excited and nervous.

“Cunor. What’s going on?” Rhonn forced his own voice to a calm and even level. He could see that there was trouble. How much was left to be seen. They had to get the youngsters out in time if an attack was coming down on their heads with force.

“Tscheketh’s cam system.” The young mehandor, answering, did not even look up, but kept his eyes trained on his screen, his fingers never slowing down. He was still wearing that long-sleeved shirt, but he had turned up the sleeves to have his hands and wrists free, to be able to work swifter. It should have looked funny with that kind of shirt, but it didn’t. On the contrary, it proved how sinister the situation was, and sent a short cold shiver down the spine of the wenadoran’s boss.

“We’ve hacked our way into the storage of the cam footage of this night, and started to erase it, only to find that the cam system has an independent backup and storage running. Makes for good material to bribe and blackmail some people, I guess. I got in there too, and we are erasing the sections individually now, and it works. But we have to call up every section as individually, there’s no automatic run I can implement since Tscheketh’s comp puts them away randomly. Nice procedure, that. In addition, some cams seem to have their separate storage as well, which one can get to only the hands-on way, which means, mechanically.”

“Damn.” The gang-leader blew out his breath. “Does that mean-“

“No.” Cunor turned for a moment, giving his boss a short smile. “We don’t have to go in again and shoot down those cams. I can do it from here, setting up a chain-reaction of overheating the energy cells, making it look like a pamthol defect engendered by the fire which isn’t fully under control yet. Tscheketh wanted to make sure the cams had independent power. His disadvantage, now. But to do that I have to get past-aw. Zakh’-“

The young mehandor gave his full attention back to the screen.

Aday was literally cringing, his face a mask of dismay. “Gods, Cunor, what-“

“Stay with procedure, Aday!” Atlan’s voice became cutting. They hadn’t lost yet, not at all. The problem was just-that they really seemed to have acquired a counterpart at the other end who had begun to chase the proverbial brekkar down the duct. “No reason to start flagging! We are ahead, and not even halfway in the other one’s sight. He’s trying to tug but didn’t manage to attach, and he’s missed the lever-point, so to say. Though I’ll have to take out the bigger guns now to have us stay at the safe side. Which isn’t too good for me, admittedly.”

“Why?” Rhonn’s question came immediately and with whiplash speed. He was onto the matter, oh yes.

Cunor smiled mirthlessly. One short troubled look at the wenadoran’s boss he could spare.

“Because with this, I must come out from behind the Bench. We are no longer dealing with just an automated system. There’s a living pamthol professional on the other end, right now, one whom I cannot fool with standard procedures. And that one has a really high level of expertise-aw!”

“Cunor!” Aday’s voice was slightly trembling.

“Silence, please.” The young mehandor’s voice had suddenly reverted to that upper-class tone he had used to bamboozle Tscheketh and his men. Apparently he was doing that as well when he was really stressed, Rhonn thought detachedly, reduced to having to watch inactively. 

“I have to activate voice input. This needs double work.”

Aday and Rhonn held their breaths as well as they could while Cunor started speaking, some more of that pamthol’ spatter, while his fingers continued to tap astoundingly swiftly. He was giving codes to the system and apparently had no problem dealing with the images appearing and shutting off in rapid order on the screen.

One could see that the erasing went on, on the one hand, while on the other the young mehandor was working hard on breaching a security wall around something-presumably the cam input, because suddenly, to a little triumphant smile of the elt’pamthole, an orange warning flasher began to pulse in the corner of an image-window that the young mehandor had not closed.

With a deep breath Atlan straightened and wearily pushed the hair-bangs falling into his face back again. Some success was achieved, for the moment. But he could not afford to relax, not yet.  
Deactivating the voice input he began to comment on what he was doing, for the benefit of his colleague in talent and the wenadoran’s boss.

“I’m in with the charging run of the cams’ energy cells. That goes on now without stopping. I have set a little blocker in there so that anyone who might notice can’t shut the charging off, not even manually. He’d have to rip the cams out of the walls, an action which they hopefully will not think of till it is too late. By the moment the cams begin to really overheat and start smoking the recording crystals will have been irreparably damaged. With that, we are on the safe side now.” Cunor showed a cold smile for a moment. “That includes the so damaging sequence where we can be seen advancing on Tscheketh’s guards at his private door and downing them.”

Rhonn sighed and let his shoulders sag a little. Did that mean that they had won the day, at last?

“What we aren’t safe with yet, and where a merry chase still is on, is the erasing process of the backup recordings taken by the cams. First-safe we got nicely, and it is going on automatically, a process my unknown opponent isn’t even holding himself up with, proof he knows that the real clutch of yilld’s eggs lies with the backup. That data is scattered, it’s double-encrypted on content and storage itself,-and it keeps automatic tag on whoever is trying to access it, complete with a spiker which follows up and turns into a hunter coming after the offender, if one cannot call it off. The one trying to go after us-after me-is making use of that function, and since I could not help leaving traces when I accessed that footage data to have it deleted, that hunter has tracks to sniff out and go after. Metaphorically spoken.”

Rhonn frowned impatiently and crossed his arms. “I got that, Cunor”, he said shortly. “So can you shake off pursuit, or do we have to prepare for a contingent of the zhyrroi coming down upon our heads in short order? For if we do, I’ll have to get the youngsters out and raise Morenth on the matter. And have us scatter and run like from a specter out of Ereinnye.”

“That won’t be necessary.” The young mehandor’s voice was firm and had acquired its mehan’ido drawl once more, a sign that made the gang-leader surer of Cunor’s conviction that he could deal with the matter than any long reassuring speech could have.

Still unerringly and unceasingly tapping on, back to staring intently at the screen, Atlan explained.  
“Since I cannot get pursuit off my track, I draw it after me”, he said. “Meaning that I can lead it where I would, and can turn and strike where I would, like a true eltyan. Neither does that have to be done by me, myself, metaphorically spoken once more. I can also set up traps to have my enemy fall into, where he will, shooting free his way, blast his own head off. Again-“

“Metaphorically spoken. Yes, I get that.” Rhonn was grinning a little now. “So what about a trap you set up right now?”

The young prince grimaced.

“A pamthol program acts and reacts according to the pattern it is set to. It can do and follow what’s programmed in, and what it hasn’t from the start it must learn, provided it has such a section and such an interface. Our scientists have been working on producing true thark intelligence for ages, and have improved KSOL intelligence considerably, over millennia. But it still is ruled solely by logic, which is a good thing, cannot link into emotions and isn’t creative by itself, though it can produce good results once more following a given pattern, set perhaps by an artist. Setting up logical parameters I can lure and catch any KSOL within a given time, provided the pamthol in question is nothing more sophisticated than that of a simple starship positronicon on the level of, say, a Leka disc. This, here, is a living person coming after me, though. That one won’t go by logic alone, and won’t be fooled by turns and twists of mine that might follow a logical pattern, but make no sense in the greater picture, so to say. I can’t, therefore, lure him down a path a pure KSOL mind would inevitably follow. He’ll follow me on his own, keeping to my tracks no matter how illogical my path looks at first glance.” Cunor’s lips twisted with irony. “The more illogical, of course, the more he’ll know it for an evasion thrown into a KSOL mind’s path, and the more avidly he will follow me, gaining on me if he is good. Which that one is, unfortunately. Though at least I can block him for the time I need to set the traps I have in mind, Gods be thanked. “

Atlan grimaced again. “To do that I must keep that one from overriding me and my input constantly. Since he is the one with main controls of Tscheketh’s system in his hands, with the spiker feeding him data on me, and being able to work openly while I must, in addition, mask my input continually, my level of blocker input has to be much higher than his to stay effectual.”

Understanding Rhonn snapped his fingers, while Aday shortly inclined his head in agreement, not even looking up. He was zealously running the deleting process of the back-up data, masked by the young mehandor’s activities, having to individually hunt up the segments of data randomly put into storage.

Taking a deep breath and putting in another code sequence, intently staring at the screen, Cunor went on explaining.

“The one trying to catch me is a professional. That means he has all the master codes a system like Tscheketh’s needs and would accept, and more besides. I believe he is a zhyrtelor, come in with the rescuing and investigating bunch. Possibly not KOLLOSS, such a one would blast through those code locks with keys so superior I could not block them with the means I use. But nevertheless-what the man encounters, meaning what he can record of my activities now, will be looked at by KOLLOSS or their likes eventually, I fear. Yet, to top him I have to use codes and input sequences on a level the official Services use, codes my father copied off the work of Celista agents. That’s items traded openly on Lepso, and thought fully legal trade in Orbana.”

Rhonn shortly grinned appreciatively. To him, a Celista, a Service agent of the Tu-ra-cel, was something approaching legend and no-one he ever thought to meet, men and women one saw in heroic vid series fighting villains on an epic scale. That their mehan’ friend had such a code was perhaps as fantastical for him. Aday, on the other hand, had given a start and looked at his colleague in trade with awe for a moment.

“Using these codes saves our asses tonight, literally. But it bares mine to that zhyrtelor and his superiors after that. They’ll know that it is someone from off-planet who got his fingers sticky in the latest affair of Tscheketh’s, someone who had the means to employ and access such a code. That has me coming out from behind the Bench for sure, because the line to this wenadoran, and to me, is a short one to follow for the zhyrroi, with Karena abducted and freed this same night. We can of course say that she ran on her own when with the pamthol system malfunctioning the locks to her room opened and she saw her chance to escape in the confusion; with cam records gone there will be no proof left against that. But I will have the searchlights shining on me with me having come lately, and coming from off-world.”

The gang-leader frowned. “I see. So what now? What can we do for a diversion, or-?”

Atlan felt touched. Rhonn wasn’t even contemplating washing his hands off the endangered mate but was ready to defend him. He had earned his place in the gang for real and for good, it seemed. Heaving a soft sigh of relief he said:  
“I’ll be able to side-track the zhyrtelori, I think. There are several points I can make use of to misdirect their search. One, I’ve hopefully managed to make the freezer’s destruction look like the result of the chemical deterioration of inferior drugs. The ones supplying them must be off-worlders as much as I am; with their drugs going bad, and they perhaps knowing they would, and having to conceal that and create a diversion of their own, they would be prime suspects for trying to erase any cam-material. The same goes for criminal organizations which might have it in for Tscheketh, like rivals in business-someone who deals with drugs himself, perhaps. Anyone upon a certain level in that business has at least off-worlder suppliers. So I’ll put in a twist with my traps that points in such a direction. Then this action could be an act of revenge upon Tscheketh. I’ll leave a hint to that end with my second trap, telling Tscheketh that now he’ll know how it feels to be fried. And to confuse him further, I’ll have it look like what I really was after was getting the back-up stuff erased. I bet that he was blackmailing some people with what’s in there, like officials of the government having a go with the Amarynth ladies all tranked up with stuff illegal as deepest Ereinnye. In the end, the zhyrtelori won’t know into which direction to look. They’ll have several suspects of higher importance and level than me who is just a single lone boy. They’ll worry about cooperation and alliance between dangerous criminal organizations and high-ranking officials, and the exclusive drug trade, and not about a poor little mehan lad who has lost all his family and is stranded down-planet all on his own.”

The young prince’s eyes glittered as he described his way to safety, smiling slightly, the while his fingers tapped along ceaselessly still, doing his work which went on for some more khelas. Then he straightened with a deep breath, and let his hands rest after the last tap that implemented the sequences he had put together unstoppably. His traps were set according to his plans, and the blocking-and drawing the pamthol professional after him in his tracks-had worked so far.

“I’m done. Aday?”

“Two sections more. Both identified and located, both of them targeted and on the line for deletion. Tscheketh’s system has accepted that input and order, and has confirmed impending execution.”

Atlan exhaled, slowly lifted his hands, and drew his fingers through his hair, letting his shoulders relax.  
“We’ve done it”, he said, in a tone almost wondering. “Gods, we’ve done it!”

He took another deep breath and held it, staring at the screen, where the pursuer’s signals met the equations the pamthol had prepared and led him on. The zhyrtelor-or whoever the professional at the other end was-followed up, intent on his prey, and promptly missed the masked divergence the young mehandor had acted from. 

“He’s passed, and going head-on for the first trap”, Cunor reported, his eyes shining. “Within shortest order, the system will go down cascading around his ears. Gods, he’s bought my diversion!”

“Erasure completed”, Aday reported, exhaling deeply as well. “We’ve got the task done in truth. Gods. Cunor, how do we sign off?”

“Gently and silently”, the young elt’pamthole responded. “No flourish, this time. Simply-slip out.” They did so, giving a few last inputs and then disconnecting. To make sure Aday turned off the power of his pamthol completely.

“When we power up once more no-one will be able to tell by our lock-in signature anywhere that it has been us who went at Tscheketh”, he explained to his boss. “Cunor has brewed up a masking signature this whole action went by, and which has been dumped with the sign-off now. He’s shown me how. I’ll do that in the future as well, whenever we have any mission going. They’ll never be able to attach any signal to our pamthol if we observe that precaution.”

“If we are not caught red-handed during the action and cannot be backtracked by the signals themselves”, Atlan cautioned, getting up and leaning back against the pamthol desk, his hands supporting him at the edge. The shirt hung in some disarray about him, and he looked somewhat tired and disheveled. His looks were a far cry now from the elegant young noble in disguise who had managed to faze and misdirect Tscheketh.

“For our rescue mission tonight, we cannot be, then? We’re safe?” Rhonn asked to make sure.

“Say say.” The young mehandor smiled tiredly. “Quite safe. If Tscheketh accuses us, though, and has police arrest us, he’ll have the men to identify us, and he himself will know me again. But he has no proof for anything but the word of his men, the action we took was freeing a woman he had most illegally abducted, mistreated and cheated of her fee, and the fire I started is another thing entirely he doesn’t know of and has nothing to do with what we did to get Karena out. Just as this affair of the deletion of data he used to blackmail people has nothing to do with us. And I even doubt he’ll name us to the zhyrroi for our presence at the Blue Sphere tonight. If we did anything at all we were there to get our gal out, and that she was there is his fault and something he could get nailed for. So, I believe, we will be left out of Tscheketh’s dealing with the zhyrroi totally. Or-I hope so.”

Cunor wiped his hair tiredly out of his face and yawned. “Sorry, mates. But I feel my bunk calling to me loudly. It’s second shift alterday already-sorry, early in the morning-and I need a few tontas of sleep before I am able to face your world again. Zhyrroi or no zhyrroi, I have to be at sera Krenna’s at pragolar.”

“Before that, we’ll have to meet Morenth. To apprise him of events and see to it he knows what’s going on. And to hand the majat ampoules to him.” The leader of the wenadoran nailed the young mehandor sharply with his gaze. “And no matter how tired you are, Cunor, and how tired you will be at sun-up, you and I will take the time for a little talk on that matter. In the morning. Rest assured-I know a damned good recipe for a morning’s drink after a hangover and too little sleep, a drink I will have to apply to most of us. Till then-have some rest, Cunor.”

Then he smiled warmly, stepped forward and carefully laid his arms around the surprised prince’s shoulders, and hugged him strongly.

“Thank you, merchanter mate. Thank you from all my heart, and from all our hearts-without you, we couldn’t have made it. It was your plan and your strategy, your work at locks and doors and your mop-up after. You did wonderfully, and you saved our asses. And I will see to it that yours stays safe too.”

Atlan smiled and hugged Rhonn back, and then disentangled himself and went to get his bit of sleep. He felt surprisingly warm and happy inside for this sincere word of thanks from the wenadoran’s boss. He was alone no longer-not like he had been before. He had found true friends, and he had earned his place among them. 

The tall Makarsan was thanking his tronic’ whizz kid now, hugging a beaming Aday and giving him words of praise no less heartfelt.  
Outside the celebration was still going on, and the young prince had to endure some more hugs and kisses from the girls, and a truly loving kiss from Karena, whose eyes glowed at him like burning stars. But she was the first one to notice how tired and worn-out their mehan’ friend looked, and called the others to order.

“Let’s have our hero get some rest, folks. And we should turn in too. I know I need to, and you put in a lot of work too to get me out of that hole. So let’s call it a night.”

“A morning, rather”, Selaron laughed, who clearly was no little drunk. But he obeyed the call to order and let go of his heroic elt’pamthole mate, as he said, and Atlan could finally trudge up to the bed, and some true rest. He fell into the mattress without hesitation and slept like a stone.

Rhonn’s brew was as necessary as it was effective. Hellishly spicy, murderously hot, and wonderfully well clearing mind and sticky eyes, the drink did its work on everyone who slouched into the kitchen groaning and got handed a steaming cup by a grinning Irjona. 

Atlan was no exception. Sitting at the table, elbows propped up and hands clasping the mug hard, a bunch of tired youngsters around so near to him their arms and hands brushed his, he reflected upon his situation in comparison to a disciplined, controlled start of his prago at the Gos Khasurn. No-one would have been let so near to the person of the Gos athor that he could have touched him physically, nor would any of those low-rank colonial essoya people have been allowed to disembark at Gos Ranton, at all. Neither would a drink brewed by the hand of one of the said essoya ever have passed and get vented by Imperial Security, let alone the Imperial Master of Provisioning to reach the hands or lips of the Imperial Family. Here he was one of a bunch of youngsters sticking together, trusting each other, and had truly been accepted and been taken in by them, he, who always had stood out, had stood alone in his office and station, even among his friends and playmates, who had been taught to be silent when he spoke, had been trained never to say him nay or deny him-which was one of the points which had made him form that little gang of kids who would play pranks on the officials of the Gos Khasurn, hiding in secret passages and exploring the Crystal Palace in a way very different from what was officially allowed. In the gang, he had been undisputed leader, but the rigid rules of Imperial protocol had been off, and they had even quarreled and disputed amongst each other, and he had been the first, but among equals.

Here Rhonn saw himself as his boss, had clapped him easily on the shoulder as he had wandered in and had wickedly grinned as he almost had groaned his greetings of a morning. No-one demanded composure and discipline of him, no-one had him stand at attention while he had to listen to admonishments or lessons on behaviour or the correct posture to present, no-one expected him to appear in perfect attire, taking his instructions for the prago with a bow before he was allowed to take his seat and have his bowl of mash, all in perfect bearing and most becoming deportment. If uncle Cunor was present, as he would be at family occasions, then protocol was most rigid even at the breakfast table, and the Gos athor was expected to be perfect and be an example, because, in the eyes of the Tai Kha’Laktrote, the Crystal Master, who was the Grand Master of Ceremony-any breach of said protocol amounted to lèse-majesté and never could be condoned. 

What would Denios da Pert, the man Cunor Lant’cer remembered as his uncle and teacher, Deni Lakthro, have said to the scene he was part of now, and the proceedings of this morning where the Gos athor da Arkon was served some hellish brew to wake him up after he had partaken of a raid upon a drug den and brothel where he could watch sexual acts progressing between various couples? What would he have said to a hertaso of his who had set fire to a freezer full of majat stuff illegal as hell within the said brothel, stealing some of them to satisfy a zarak-athor, had given his word to the leader of a zarak-wenadoran to accept him as his boss and obey him, had taken part in criminal acts and had had his first brush with police in an almost hostile way? Of course, as he knew too well- the police, and any other official body or organization on this planet, apparently the whole government with the Tato in the lead, he had to deem being his enemies, as he knew from the calls the lifeboat’s radio had received. They were in with the criminals who had abducted him and had murdered the crew of the TONDON, Lesena and Kelta, and the Tai Kha’Laktrote da Arkon. 

So even he, the Crystal Prince of the Realm, deprived of any other support and in the gravest of danger from these criminals and terrorists, had to turn to the dark side of the law in his distress and find support wherever he could, and if it was in the Ran-zarak, literally the Dark World beyond law and order. His first duty was to escape these murderers and warn his uncle the Tai Moas, and he could not do this if he did not get upon the law’s opposite side too-at least here upon this planet of Tela-vhelor, of the “Time of plenty”, which better should be called the world of teelya toorya, of grease and bribe money. Help and support would not be forthcoming to him from this police organization, or that Secret Service the KOLLOSS which was still on the active search for him on the orders of its Tato who was an ally to the killers of his beloved ones! So the Gos athor da Arkon had to find succour and aid for himself and had only found it with a bunch of essoya colonial kids who were simply criminals, living off theft and fraud and other illegal acts-and who trusted him and thought of him as their friend, thinking how to divert danger from him before they threw him to police. Rhonn would stand by his new merchanter mate, as much he had made clear. That he thought of himself as Cunor Lant’cer’s boss was correct, right and clean, simply because he knew much better here and now what to do than the said merchanter did, a kath’zarak himself and of no better repute in fact, and that the mehan’lad in question was the Gos athor da Arkon in truth did not change the situation at all. Rhonn was older, knew better, and had earned his post with this wenadoran, was what. That one Atlan da Gonozal, born the Gos athor da Arkon and by his uncle’s rank named tec’Gonozal, was addressed as zhdopan-sa, was bowed to or even knelt to with eyes covered by fingertips, was hailed the Heir of the Empire and by a hundred titles more was of no importance at all, not here and now, and no matter how important most people might think him, he had not earned that station in life as Rhonn had earned his and worked for it. Well, yes, he had been educated well and put his zeal and all his efforts into doing as well as he could, so he could serve his peoples as well later, when he was grown and would command whole fleets, fighting the Maahks. 

Oh ae yaeh, yith, great. He had taken and accepted what he had been given, say say, all right. But Rhonn-and Karena, and Selaron, and Aday-they had been given nothing; on the contrary, what they should have had, a home, parents, families, love, a safe upbringing-all of that had been taken from them, had been stolen from them. What they had nevertheless they had fought for hard and worked for harder, and had taken for themselves even against the merciless resistance of the society surrounding them. They had established their own family with each other, had built up a home they had fought for with teeth and nails and would have to fight for every prago still. What they had, and were, they had won by a hard struggle, and as hard a struggle their every prago was for them. But they accepted that and worked for it whichever way they could, and criminal living was, sadly, the only way of living for most of them left. And so they lived, and whatever they were for each other they had earned by that hard struggle. 

As had Rhonn, being the leader. And now as had he, the trust and his standing with the members of this wenadoran the first time in his life having been earned by real hard work and fight and the risk he had taken for them, disregarding his own safety. To this-he had not been born. This he had not been handed with the prospect that he must and would do well at it, perfectly tailored to his abilities and to what was expected of him. This-he had earned by his hard work. As he would have to earn the honour he was accorded by the peoples of the Tai Ark’Tussan who hailed him the Gos athor and the Mekhon Rayth’kor and expected him to fight for them, and to free them from Maahkath attacks at long last. 

Feeling surprisingly heartened and warmly happy with this thought Atlan sipped his drink and quietly enjoyed the still praising words from the others who recounted the adventures of last night again, with more accuracy and realism now than before when everyone had been high on success and blinded by relief of having narrowly escaped. Second thoughts upon what Tscheketh would do now slowly were emerging as well. That Morenth had to be apprised of developments as swiftly as possible now was clear; Kreto already had been called and would come in about a tonta to get the bunch of rescuers together with the saved famkarthona, to have them report directly to his zarak-athor, Rhonn declared.

“Cunor.” The young mehandor looked up to meet the sharp gaze of the wenadoran’s boss and saw the swift inclination of Rhonn’s head to the side, calling him up to have that talk with him he had promised late at night. He turned his wrist in acceptance and followed the leader’s invitation, leaving the empty cup on the table. He could not avoid this conversation and had to be careful now what he would say. 

They retired to the nook downstairs Rhonn used as his own to tinker away. Leaning against the desk he gestured the young merchanter to take a seat on the stool, but Atlan preferred to sit on the table’s edge to look the tall leader into the eye and be on one level with him. Rhonn took that maneuver with an eyebrow raised, proof he caught it. 

“Selaron gave me these.” He took a handful of ampoules out of the drawer, softly glinting red and golden in the lamplight, and held them out to the young prince.

“You said that’s majat stuff?”

“Yes.” This very moment, Cunor’s mehan’ido drawl was practically non-existent. He would have said “Aye” or “Yaeh” normally, Rhonn believed, beginning to know their new mate. But he had recently learned that the young mehandor slipped into his in-trained upper-class tone and speech when he was particularly stressed-perhaps a very useful reaction purposefully learned. He would be most stressed if he was caught at breaking in somewhere or having hacked a pamthol, wouldn’t he? If in such a situation he did not betray himself with being a mehandor but instead could answer as haughtily as possible, whoever accosted him would become wary, thinking him a shader mehin’ tho.

“So you know about majat in detail.”

“Yes.” Cunor took a deep breath. “Depends upon what one calls in detail, of course. About my father’s trade contacts, the Deals he struck and what exactly he sold when to whom I know practically nothing. My father never let me out on dock when he had business of the kind going on. He said-“

The young mehandor paused, apparently marshaling his thoughts. Rhonn waited patiently, only cocking his head and turning his wrist.

“He said, with the kind of stuff concerned, and the people who would dare buy and sell it, one took no risks, not anywhere and not at any time. He said that I might get kidnapped and sold back for his cargo, or for giving the information one needs for trading. The insectoid Majat are a peculiar sort of people. Compared to Taa, they are a bitch to handle. Normally one doesn’t even speak to them as one can to a Taa. They make use of the hive-friends, the Kontrin intermediaries, instead. Meth-maren Kontrin, those are, of Sul sept or of Ruil sept. Ruil offers a contact to the Greens, while Sul is hive-friend of Blue hive. That’s luxury goods in both cases, Green selling the stuff like jewels or majat silk, while Blue has even more exclusive items to offer. Biologicals, natural chemicals, and the sort. What is illegal as deepest Ereinnye, and as valuable and costly.”

“Got it.” Rhonn snapped his fingers. “Stuff like this?”

“Aye.” Cunor opened his hands and looked the leader in the eye. His own glittered light red with golden sparks in them and watered a little. The young mehandor was deeply agitated, inside.

“Look, Rhonn. I got no idea about what went on between my father and Sul Meth-maren, or about what was stored in our holds and when and where it was sold, or to whom and for which price. My father did not wish me to know about that, not yet. But Kel did, I am damn sure, and uncle Deni did. They were the ones who went out with my father on the dock, at Istra station. Fact is, I know more about majat culture or the Shemantal da Karsha Sarpa than most people do, or what’s in the data banks officially. I would have joined father in a few Tai-Votani, he said, and be intermediary for us. Majat won’t let any man into the hives, to talk with Mother. Only a female intermediary ever is accepted, and that one most often gets no further than to a conversation with Warrior, never even entering the hive. But father thought he could smuggle me in as his own successor, his own Hive Heir, his Young Queen, so to say. He hoped to have me get into a hive out at Istra to meet Mother, and it might even have worked. Me being male, I would not pose Queen-threat, meaning-I would be let in, ranking as a young Queen, but as a male would not evoke the fighting instinct of Mother, the resident majat Queen of the hive. The hives have learned, and even the Mothers have become interested in us and have become curious, a trait which originally only was attributed to Warrior, as far as Arkonath records go. The Central hives on the homeworld upon Cerdin do not have instant contact with the hives in the Outer Reach, so attitudes vary even among the Queens, a very little. So I have been taught about majat, and know a lot. But that doesn’t say that I had majat stuff in my own hands, ever. Only saw those ampoules when I opened that freezer. But of course I recognized the stuff for what it was. So I filched it, the better brews. That’s the stuff the Golds and Reds produce, and Blue-hive sells. Green has its own brand of products.”

The young boss of the wenadoran had listened intently and with much interest. “So that is where your father trained you to go when you were older? To these golds and reds?”

“No.” Cunor threw his head back in denial. “To Reds and Golds, no Arkonath ever speaks. Red kills, and Gold-well, devours and takes in and changes. And gives birth again. But Green and Blue, they are all right. To talk to, at least by Kontrin. And perhaps by me, if I ever had gotten as far. Which will not happen now, as easily.” The young mehandor sighed and flipped his hands. “A project for the future, at best. Though knowledge like that could be my blank ticket into another shader clan of my people, where I might buy myself in and have me offer something valuable for the captain and patriarch. That’s my back-up plan if I cannot get a berth on a trader ship of a clan who can use my knowledge on a pamthol.”

Rhonn sighed and went with his fingers through his hair.

“All right with me, Cunor, and I buy that. I believe that you tell me true. But Morenth-he won’t let be, just with you saying that you don’t know farther. He’ll want more, and better, and he won’t let alone. Your idea about having Karena, and us all, get some recompense from Tscheketh is not bad. But have you thought about where it would land you with Morenth? Tscheketh is moving upon him, and has it coming from our boss, sooner or later. Now you’ve set up Tscheketh for trouble with his suppliers and his associates. We’ll have to tell Morenth of that. He’ll be impressed-and he’ll move on it, pal. That’s an opening in Tscheketh’s defenses he isn’t going to ignore, or squander the use of. And then he’ll be after the majat stuff, and the contacts. That’s a chance for Morenth to better his prospects considerably if he can either subdue Tscheketh and have him work for him, or take over from him at all.”

The young mehandor licked his lips nervously and then compressed them into a thin line. 

“So what do you suggest I say or do, instead?” he asked, looking at Rhonn somewhat helplessly. 

“Clever plan, but blasting you with its residue no less, is it, merchanter mate?” Rhonn asked with a mirthless smile. “Because you miscalculated your terrain, isn’t it? I bet that out in space I would be the one who’d misplace his aim, somewhat. Here, you’re not clear about what you’re up against and have too little clue about what’s what, and what goes where. And where the ground isn’t as firm as you think, and a trap opens up in front of you.”

“Gods. Yes.” There was something like desperation in Cunor’s eyes now, and in his voice too. “Rhonn-“

“Just wanted you to realize that, merchanter mate.” The leader’s eyes glittered, and he smiled a little wryly.

“That was quite a stunt you threw off the cuff this night, and twice-setting up the freezer the way you did, and putting all these misdirections into Tscheketh’s comp pointing every which way. But you did not check and recheck your plans with me, and surprised me no less with them. The others see the benefits and don’t think that I don’t see them either. But I also see the drawbacks. They expose my ass to Morenth, and Tscheketh, no less than yours. Remember I’m your boss, Cunor? That means I am responsible for you and have to stand up for what you do, before my boss and the whole Ran-zarak if it comes to a pinch, and with majat stuff involved that pinch has arrived with a sand-Yilld’s speed and a Rock-yilld’s vengeance, before we could say boo.”

“I-I didn’t-“ Atlan took a deep breath and felt sweat break out on his brow. What had he gotten himself and his wenadorani into, with what he had thought to be strokes of genius? His eyes were watering with agitation, as any Arkonath’s eyes were prone to do if he was excited, and he had to blink and wipe the tears away with a swift gesture. Interestingly Rhonn’s eyes were dry. Going with his fingers through his hair he swallowed, and spread his open hands.

“I could not have checked with you beforehand, Rhonn, I’m sorry. I improvised and went on the fly, reacting on the spot to what I encountered and what surprised me no less. I mean, I knew about Tscheketh having that locker, and that he had majat stuff in there because I recognized the ampoules when I saw them on his vid cams as I hacked my way in the first time. And we needed a diversion, and it was the only one I could think of I could set up within the time and the opportunities offered by circumstances. And from that it followed that I must do my very best to burn my scent off that path, so to say. That room had to burn for various reasons. We’ll be identified by Tschketh’s four guards and me, by himself, but he has no proof else that we were present at all, not so he can come up with a real charge in front of a court. It’ll be his word against ours, and he has no proof! The only thing is that he knows that we were present at the Blue Sphere last night, and that can be explained with us reacting to Karena’s abduction as swiftly as we could, trying to sneak in and at least finding out where she was, hoping to the Gods we might get a chance to bail her out. And Fate handed us a Gift, didn’t it when by chance at exactly that time the attack of his enemies took place! Karena used that chance when the system opened the lock on her door due to fire alert, and ran, and met us as we hid just at Tscheketh’s doorstep, trying to find our way in. And that’s all anyone can know on us, and less than anyone can prove. So at least on that, we are clear. As to Morenth-“

“Gods, Cunor.” The young leader slowly shook his head in an exasperated gesture. “Haven’t you realized yet that our word, in front of a court, would never count for anything? If Tscheketh wished to press charges against us, he’d pay the police and the prosecutor, and the judge and he has more money than do we. Much more! What’s true, or what could be proven, would count as little then! We’d not stand in a court where dignified proper folk appear. We’d be where the rabble is being speed-judged and convicted out of hand. The only thing that most probably will save our asses in that matter is the fact that Tscheketh won’t bother to drag us to the judges because he doesn’t want his methods, of abducting a famkarthona just like that, to be known publicly. With the kind of clientele he has, that would be bad for business, and he’s had quite a blood-letting in that regard this night, thanks to you. That was a very good move, for all that. And his attention is drawn elsewhere, and higher than us, very good again. It's just-Morenth won’t lose a chance like that. Good for us, because Tscheketh had it in for us anyway. And bad for us, because our boss won’t be content with only getting his hands upon a few ampoules of majat stuff, period. To sell that profitably he needs the people who would consume such material, and can pay for it. And those won’t just be found if one puts up an ad at a street corner somewhere, will they? Apart from them wanting more from Morenth, then, and he’ll need to find the suppliers. They’ll ask nicely and at gunpoint, and where did you get these ampoules from, pal? Since they aren’t the ones who did Tscheketh in, in truth. Morenth doesn’t have the clientele, doesn’t have the drug dens-he sells wholesale and without getting his hands dirty with the trade itself-and he sells and buys with exclusive medicines and meds one can get upgrades on, a whole different kind of division in the drug trade, and far less conspicuous and noticeable. He makes use of yoners and hospitals in the area and a bit beyond and specializes in a few exclusive brands. He doesn’t need drug dens or brothels to have his clients come to him. The ones taking his stuff are average people, housewives, and overworked managers as well as dock-workers who sometimes got hooked up by mistake instead of on purpose. See the difference, merchanter mate? To make true use of the majat stuff Morenth would have to take over Tscheketh’s trade, and since he must move on him anyway, with Tscheketh moving on him, he’ll make use of the lead you hand to him.”

Rhonn cleared his throat and saw how pale the young mehandor had become, his eyes wide and his face almost as white as his hair.

“And I believe you if you say that you don’t know what or where or when, and who, with your father’s trade. But Morenth hardly will. And he will ask you, nicely and less nicely. How long do you think you can hold out, clamped to a wall, and stuck with an aposzdazar everywhere it really hurts? They’ll cut your clothes off you piece by piece, and come at your bare skin, mate. I’ve seen it, and I don’t wish to see it again. After you can’t stand it anymore, you’ll talk, and if you do not know shit, then you’ll invent stuff, and that will come out and you’ll be a liar. And that will be it for you, mate. According to the level of anger you’ll have made Morenth feel, your death will be swifter or longer, and you’ll feel it more keenly or less. We’re in a real mess, Cunor. In a real mess.”

“Well, then we won’t hand over the ampoules at all!” The young merchanter threw his hands wide. “Kreto knows that we’ve gotten out Karena and that we have set fire as a diversion downstairs. Nothing more. So, what? We’ll lose the benefit, but what the hell, it’s good enough we got our girl out, isn’t it?”

Rhonn sighed. “Cunor, don’t be so damn naïve. Do you think that Morenth has no spies over at Tscheketh’s? The same as Tscheketh has Morenth covered, logically. And Tscheketh knows what he has lost. So Morenth will learn, sooner or later. He knows I couldn’t have pulled this off, or Aday couldn’t have. He knows we have had massive help we didn’t have a berlon ago. So it’s you, the elt’pamthole. Same goes for your knowledge of the Shemantal da Karsha Sarpa. You said the zhyrtelori asked about that, and knew it, at your working place, didn’t they? And Morenth has his ties to police same as any shader has, in the area. He’ll learn about that too. The line between facts is short, isn’t it?”

Atlan found that he was beginning to shake, inside. Gods, he had underestimated the Situation here, he had been such a fool-but what could and should he have done, else? 

Rhonn showed a thin smile, watching the sick look on the young merchanter’s face intensify.

“Just told you in detail, mate, so you know what you let yourself in for, knowing little and throwing stunts. Just so you won’t do that again, at least not without having made a plan that’s tighter and covering better and checking with me. Surprising me like that was a sick game, pal.”

“I-I didn’t do this on purpose or to play you a bad game!” 

The young boss snapped his fingers. “I know that, Cunor, which is why I’m telling you instead of beating the hell out of you and throwing you to the Luykanth pack. I think I can cover it for you. Here’s what we’ll say.”

Atlan could have broken out in a fit of hysterical laughter. Shrieking hysterical laughter. What Rhonn had hit upon for camouflage-but, Gods, it was all logical, wasn’t it? So damn logical, Gods-one could roll on the floor laughing one’s head off. Instead, he got a grip upon himself as hard as he could, kept outwardly calm, and forced himself into a cadence of Dagor breathing, level one. He’d have to get off tension, later. But for now, he had to appear calm and cool, and make a good impression upon Morenth and his pakka-thoi. Kreto had eyed him sharply, and had had him sit at his side, between the zarak-tho and Rhonn. So Morenth was clearly aware of whom to thank for the newest developments. 

Selaron, Enteko, and Karena were piled upon the back seat and looked sharp and orderly, and Karena-simply looked beautiful and becoming, so clearly adult that one would think her to be the oldest and most confident person in the group. But Atlan knew that she had taken some pills to get herself under control after what she had gone through last night. The bruises were well on the way of healing with good medicals, and well covered. But the hurts she had sustained inside would take their time to get better.

Presenting himself as straight and scrubbed, the young prince had his mehandor look emphasized the more and walked proudly, the son of his father who had gotten in his first strike of vengeance against the enemies of his family.

Rhonn gave a short report on events and proceedings and presented his new mehandor friend as the real perpetrator and leader of the mission, which wasn’t as true. But since the plan had been his, many of the key actions had been his, and the mop-up had been his almost solely, one could argue for that kind of view. The others were prepped and would bear the story out. They anyway saw matters quite much like they were told of. Mindful of Rhonn’s complaint about surprises, Atlan had told him what he could come up with to endorse the slant they would present and had gotten the full approval of his boss.

Morenth’s eyes glittered as he leaned forward a little and smiled sharply.

“Well done, Rhonn”, he simply said, and took the ampoules the young boss of his wena’ handed him personally and with an almost careful touch. The zarak-athor knew what riches he was handed here, oh yes.

“And well done by you too, Cunor Lant’cer”, he added, leaning back again and letting his eyes rest thoughtfully upon the young mehandor, that cap rakishly on the one’s head with the short braid peeping out, the spacer jacket worn mehan’ fashion and the posture one of proud parade rest. 

“I see that there is quite a lot you have not yet told me about yourself, mehan’tho”, Morenth slowly said.

Atlan cleared his throat and let his chin come up a little farther.

“Cay, to”, he answered. After a short pause, he explained:

” I didn’t come to this world simply stepping off a trader ship, mekhon. I rode a rescue boat into the atmosphere at an angle of about ninety percent at first, because a swarm of fighter ships was after me from the ship I had come with. That one which by now has landed, and whose captain has gotten your KOLLOSS to search for an escaped prisoner who has abducted a boy he holds hostage. Zar’she, Stardust, all of that. They’re searching for me, and they have a reason. Just as I have reason to go as hard on them as I can.”

The young mehandor took a deep breath.

“And the reason for that is, my father traded with majat, apart from selling data. I never was part of the trade-parties, not yet, and know no details at all. But he had me learn everything about the majat that is known. Taa, many people know. They’re as social with us Arkonath as an insectoid people can get, they’re great builders and have their hives not only upon Iprasa. And they go out in work-gangs of only five individuals if they must. Majat, they’re almost unknown outside the Reach. Only their Warriors ever leave there, and singly, on special missions. Father set me up as his Hive Heir, his Young Queen, so to say, and hoped that I could get access to Blue hive once I was grown enough to attempt such a thing. I’m male, and would not have posed Queen-threat. Talking to Mother, to a Queen, might have gained us so much more than the stuff father bought, and sold. Our clan was small, and we had but that one ship. We had to optimize our prospects, father said, and I could have done that. “

Morenth listened clearly fascinated. His lips even stood open a little. Apparently he understood quite well what the young merchanter was talking about, and its implications.

“Instead, I’m left with empty hands, now. I have no information to give on my father’s dealings, to my greatest regret. But my training, and my knowledge about majat, is an asset to me still, and I intend to make use of it once I am grown. Outside of the Reach, I am quite unique with what I know, based on data we got on Istra, one of my family’s better hauls from data storage. It was my first great catch, as well. And that data doesn’t exist outside the Reach anymore, now, but in my head.”

Cunor made a significant gesture to his brow. 

“This was why the slime-bekkars who are after me did not kill me once they caught me, and want to get me alive still. While what I want most is to see them dead, every one of these murderous snake-headed villains. You see-“

The young mehandor swallowed hard and went on. “My ship did not just go up in an accident. We were boarded, and our people were killed horribly, one by one. They wanted my father to give them what he had, data, and our cargo and me. But he refused, and I could flee. I do not know who they were, and how my father had gotten afoul of them. There was real malice in what they did to my family, not just greed to get his assets into their hands. But I swear by all the Gods, I will get them, and if it takes all the Tai-Votani of my life. I will find out who they are, and why they went after the Lirela, and where they are now. And I will kill them one by one as I saw my family members die, one by one.”

Cunor sobbed dryly, only once. That he was forcing himself to stay calm, and that he truly felt deep emotions, and must speak the simple truth, no-one doubted. Morenth’s eyes were hooded, and his lips compressed. He looked very piercingly at the young merchanter, missing no part of his movements, watching every tiny detail of Cunor’s body language.

“To us, the Blood Bond is everything”, the youth said, reaching into his pocket and slipping out a scrap of fabric, once red, which was covered all over with dark brown blots.

“This is part of what was the sleeve of my jacket, the prago my family died. This is what is left to me of my beloved ones, their blood soaking into my sleeve as they were killed and I slipped and fell and was smeared and spattered. This is what I have kept with me when I was running from the murderers of my people, and when I decided to turn around and go after them instead, stealthily looking for them, finding them. I wasn’t careful enough and got caught almost a berlon ago, again. This planet here was where they were going, and when they were decelerating insystem making ready to land I managed to escape my prison cell and got into a rescue boat and ran where I could. Which was down here. The electric plant explosion a few pragos ago was my doing, when I fired up the rescue boat so they could not know for sure where I was, and whether I had survived. So I don’t only want off this planet because I’m so eager to re-join the mehandor culture. I want to escape my father’s murderers too. But before that-“ here Cunor Lant’cer nailed the zarak-athor sharply with his gaze-“ I hope to get as much information on my enemies as I can. They’re here, and I must surmise that they have their fingers in the exclusive drug-trade on Tela-vhelor. That I am stranded here might be a Sahyas Payneen da Asa’nan sahín, a Gift of Fate in truth for me. They most logically will be the ones who have supplied Tscheketh with this majat stuff, and with souring his association with them and getting him into trouble with them, I hope I have lured the coumargs out of their holes. I only have to watch now where a feeler will surface and can find out where they hide, and who they are. On the way, I shall need allies. I’m just one man right now, and very young. But I’ve got my knowledge of the Reach, and I hope to survive, and become rich one day with what I know, and can do. So if you will help me now, mekhon, and accept my allegiance, for now, we could become partners in trade later. Would you strike that Deal with me?”

Morenth’s gleaming white eyebrows were up now. Thoughtfully still, and leaning back, he watched the young mehandor for a khela. Then he stood and held out his hand. 

“You are very young still, Cunor, that’s true, and at the moment are in jeopardy and have only your hopes. But it is not true that you come with totally empty hands. Already you have brought me a good deposit on your hopes of majat trade. Let these ampoules be a symbol of future profit.”

They grabbed each other’s wrists and tightened their grip, and bowed ceremoniously to each other. It should have looked ridiculous, the elegant zarak-athor and the rakish so very young merchanter. But it wasn’t. Both of them appeared quite serious, and Cunor Lant’cer was no kid anymore, but an adult, grown-up before his time by the experiences he had had to face.

“Mapan thundo” , the young mehandor said very solemnly. “The Deal is Struck.”

“Aye. The Deal is Struck.” They bowed to each other once more and stepped back, Cunor smiling a little now.

“I know, mekhon, that the stuff isn’t easy to sell if one doesn’t have the clientele. So we’d be content with fifteen percent of the sale, and would ask but for ten percent forwarded within the berlon.”

Morenth laughed, true amusement in his voice. “Spoken like a true mehandor. Eight percent and two percent forwarded.”

“Twelve, and seven now. We have come to you immediately and have faithfully handed over everything.”

The zarak-athor grinned. “Which was what you had to do, and could not avoid, having no other place to go to. Ten, and five percent handed out, half of it on a credit chip and half of it in goods your boss can choose.”

Agreeing, Atlan bowed and accepted. “Tathisston.” 

That bargain was better than he had hoped; and Morenth would not think of killing or harming him now. Rhonn was a genius, indeed. And the story he had come up with as camouflage was, in fact, extremely near to truth and how matters had really happened. The young leader of the wenadoran was in for a surprise when he would be told. This evening or the next, at the latest. It was true that he could not be kept in the dark. On his own, the young prince had realized, he was too ignorant and too much prone to step into traps he didn’t even recognize for what they were.

Politely, Morenth inclined his head and asked Rhonn, and Karena, to report in more detail and had Cunor tell more about his work at the pametharkol as well. The description of how the young mehandor had duped Tscheketh and played the role of a noble in disguise made the zarak-athor laugh.

“You are full of interesting talents indeed, thorny flower that you are, growing from the rubbish dump. I wonder.”  
Suddenly Morenth was serious again, and nailed Cunor with his gaze sharply. 

“You have gone at Tscheketh quite much like a true eltyan, and as mercilessly. Why were you so hard on him? You could have avoided the risk to yourself at more than one point.”

Coolly Atlan bowed. “He has abducted Karena, and I owe her big. She brought me in, and gave me hope first, down here. Then I gave my word to Rhonn, and so to you, mekhon, and Tscheketh is your enemy and about to go for you as well as for us. We can all use the fact well that he is distracted now, and turns his eyes elsewhere. As to the ampoules, Karena is due some recompense, and I thought that-your acquiescence to the proposal I planned would be much easier obtained if I could offer something good, and prove my worth, and that I did not just brag about what I know. The settings of the dials I put in will convince any expert Tscheketh’s partners in trade can send. They’ll know that their associate has screwed up badly, and bears the fault himself. Or, if they believe him against all expectations, which might be the case if they can trace the residues of the hammer gas, they’ll know that a true professional of their own kind has tampered with the freezer and that either one of them is to blame, or that rivaling organizations have had their hand in this. Either way, this is a short ride to Ereinnye for them all, and they deserve it. Tscheketh is an ally of my enemies and the murderers of my beloved ones. And then-“

Cunor paused. Morenth raised his eyebrows. “And then?” he asked.

“And then he challenged me, formally”, the young mehandor responded, speaking calmly and evenly. His eyes glittered coldly.

Oh. With a start, Rhonn realized that his new friend was speaking in full earnest. Cunor meant what he had said, in the full sense of the word. He had been attacked by aposzdazar, and a formal challenge had indeed been issued.

“It seems that you have internalized your role as the scion of a noble family quite well, Cunor”, the zarak-athor remarked, dryly, still watching him closely.

“That may be.” The young merchanter still kept to that cool and formal tone, not at all drawling. As he had not in the last few khelas either.

“But neither do mehandor forgive easily. I stand by the Blood Bond, as every one of us has done for thousands of Tai-Votani, since the first clan of our kind fired up their engines and went out to trade, and find new worlds, profit, and freedom. No world can hold us, and all we have are our ships and our families. Both have been taken from me. What is left to me are our songs, our memories, and my heritage. And revenge.”

Cunor gave even a quite formal bow with his last words. As formally Morenth inclined his head.

“About revenge and honour, every inhabitant of the Ran-zarak understands. Few of us, very few, never have vowed revenge upon an enemy. You have my regard, mehan-tho.”

“Mekhon.” Cunor bowed again. 

Rhonn looked stunned. Apparently he had not seen his boss in such a dignified mode before, and seemed surprised on how seriously he was taking the young merchanter, whose true age still was not determined. But Morenth seemed to be satisfied as to the truth of Cunor’s words and seemed to believe him, no different from the young leader of his wenadoran. The young mehandor’s sincerity seemed to impress everyone well enough. Or did Morenth see more in him, and expect more of him, than Rhonn could imagine right now, so he bided his time with the foreigner and waited for results to judge him further? The first bounty he had delivered now, though, with these ampoules, having recognized them for what they were at all, in the first place-that wasn’t so bad, was it?

On the way home Cunor looked grim, not happy and relieved, which surprised his young boss. Asking why Rhonn got a sharp look out of glittering light red eyes.

“I know that I messed up, tonight at Tscheketh’s and after, starting with sloppy planning. I should have done better, and didn’t. Uncle Deni’d have my guts for this kind of performance, and Taddo-Gods, Taddo-“

Atlan exhaled deeply and went with his fingers through his hair, exasperated.  
“In space, you either do right the first time, or you don’t at all. If you mess up like I did, having to scramble after the pieces you left scattered like that, catching them falling one after the other-you’d be done for, the chance is. I just got very lucky I managed to catch up with the mess I left. What I delivered to you tonight, that wasn’t first-rate. Far from it. Gods-damned far from it!”

Grinning swiftly Rhonn patted the other boy’s shoulder. “Hey, merchanter mate. You did well enough! Under the circumstances and having to work on the fly, you did very well! You pulled it off, everywhere. That I criticized, and warned you, simply was to show you that you can’t afford to horse around just on your own but have to check your actions with me, beforehand, because you don’t know how the Tashma goes, down here. That’s natural. Neither would I know if I had to run an action upstation, or even in a ship. That’s not my turf, and I wouldn’t know the rules, up there.”

Cunor grimaced, though he inclined his head.

“That’s no excuse, and I know it. I should have realized that I was out of my depth. Damn overconfident and blind I was, and I’d have deserved to get a kick or more out of it. If I didn’t know, I’d have to learn better and reconnoiter better, beforehand! Instead I thought I knew so well, and thought I had everything in hand, only to find I was floundering and didn’t have firm ground under my feet, on the mission, and in action! Gods, I simply should have scouted out better, and checked with you better, damned right I should have! Gods, I’d deserve a dressing-down on an epic scale, Gods-damned well I deserve it! I know that in training everything goes smoothly most times, and that real-time in action matters are different and rougher, and that things can go differently than planned. But then one damned well should have prepared for eventualities! And I didn’t even realize I should have! Gods-“

The young prince squeezed his eyes shut in near-desperation. 

“Hey, Cunor.” Rhonn was concerned now, and squeezed his new friend's shoulder, hard. “Hey, it went well, and it’s all right now, isn’t it? If you spilled, then you mopped up, and you damn well did, leaving a mess for Tscheketh to slip around in, instead. Anyway, it was not your problem, at the start. It was mine, and I had to deal with it. You just helped us out and got yourself involved. But the responsibility was mine, and is mine! That’s why I told you, pal, this morning. It’s my ass first, and that’s why I must know what’s going on, and you can’t decide for yourself without checking with me and act. The saying what’s what and what you do and don’t, if you act for the wenadoran, must be mine, and I must be in the know, and you must get my go-ahead before you get your fingers in. Because I bear the responsibility, and know how the Tashma goes, down here. And you don’t, in both matters. Got it, Cunor?”

“Aye. Yes, ser, I do, now. I’m sorry, Rhonn. I most sincerely apologize.”

In lieu of giving a real deep bow Cunor just inclined his head, sitting in the cramped-up old battered glider. But the sincerity of his apology, and his decorum, got through very well.

Rhonn inclined his head back, accepting, and slapped the young mehandor’s shoulder shortly. 

“It’s all right, Cunor. Gods, you’re so full of ceremony and propriety, on occasion. Take it easier, mate. I hold with the meaning of things, not their outer form, if that outer form isn’t what the matter is about. So relax. We’re all right, here.”

Atlan compressed his lips shortly, but then he took a deep breath and relaxed as well as he could. He knew it wasn’t all right, not by far. But for right now it was, as far as it was possible. Rhonn was being generous, was what. Has’athor Kenos would have had his head for this, in truth, and just barely not literally. He’d have had exercises and courses and classes and briefings till he could barely think straight for berlons, and no free time at all for Votani for a screw-up like this, after, he knew it. And additionally-he was tensed up like hell, and much too upset to truly relax, he realized. He’d need a good shake-down once they got home. Home-to a criminal wenadoran’s cramped-up run-down hole-lair in a house not even built like a Khasurn, just to the standards of primitive utility. And that small cramped-up kitchen with its scratched table of simple grey foamplast where people sat packed to each other so closely they touched each other actually had begun to feel comfortable, and nice, and a little bit like home. There was no isolating distance to most people one met and saw, no respectful waiting for him to speak, or lectures he had to listen to, on the other hand, standing at attention and having to adhere to strictest protocol, in public, and before cameras. There was no “ Ia te, mekhon” or “ neecay, mekhon” but “hey Cunor” instead, or he was called pal or mate as he was addressed by Rhonn. Home. The word actually generated a warm feeling in his heart. Aday would want to speak about last night too before they went to sleep, a conversation he was actually looking forward to. Gods. The life of one Cunor Lant’cer really was very different from the one of Atlan tec’ Gonozal-and with all its dire aspects, and the even much direr reasons for it, it had its bright sides as well.

“Rhonn, I need the gym for about a tonta, please.” A hard workout would not do, and neither would just some fighting training. For a good calm meditation kneeling down he felt too tense, and was emotionally much too strung up, Atlan knew. He needed to do his meditation, and the necessary and most pressing processing of emotions and tensions, in a kind of structured movement as he had done the most recent psychic intervention. A dance would be best for that, he felt, and nothing stately or slowly measured. A proper tap-dance to a funky Arbtan’s two-step rhythm, that would feel right. It was what he liked to dance to at the free and wilder kid’s parties-at his own home, the Crystal Palace. 

No, not now. Not for a long time. Here and now, he was Cunor Lant’cer, Atlan reminded himself strongly, and the only home he ever had known, the mehandor ship Lirela, had been attacked and destroyed by some enemies of his father Aloroy, and he had found a new temporary home now on this backwater planet named Tela-vhelor, in its capital named Makarsa, and this cramped –up kitchen most likely was not that much smaller than the Lirela’s galley had been. Alos and his team, mostly living and working belowdecks, had had even less space to feel comfortable in. 

“Will you do a Dagor exercise as you did before?” Rhonn was apparently genuinely interested and stood hands on hips, hopefully waiting. Cunor flipped up his hand.

“No, I’m too upset-it’ll be a tap-dance. I just need to get my tension and my emotions out of my system.”

The gang-leader grinned widely, crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “This I’ve got to see. Do you want me to play music for you? Anything you know you want?”

The young prince kept himself from grimacing. He would very much have preferred to do this alone. On the other hand, dancing one’s feelings off and getting into the spirit of movement and elation was something different from sitting or kneeling quietly, and he would not have to go down further than Dagor level two. This kind of meditation was new to him, and it was not an intervention, but still needed some getting-to-know and some experience before it could reach its maximum of efficiency. He’d just imagine he was with his friends, and this was going to be a tonta full of fun and partying-and, well, he was with his friends anyway, wasn’t he? If he could trust anyone upon the surface of this planet, it was these kids here, who had taken him in, and for whom he truly had risked much already. As they had for him.

V’angheliss was a composer whose works were popular throughout the Empire. Not on a level with uncle Upoc, of course, but Upoc was a genius, father was used to saying, while V’angheliss was merely very good. Personally, Atlan liked those compositions and had them played at the kid’s parties regularly.

“The Arbtan Stepping through Fire”, by V’angheliss, would you have that on your list?” he asked. Rhonn lifted his eyebrows, and grinned. 

“Lively and spicy, you like it, mehan’pal?” he asked back. “A good choice, I think, to shake out. Yes, we’ve got that. It should do for this purpose, nicely. Mind if I join you, perhaps?”

The young prince smiled sharply at his boss. “No”, he retorted. “But see to it I have room and can move lively and perhaps do a few kicks nevertheless to let off steam. “

Agreeing Rhonn snapped his fingers and tapped upon the player’s display, still grinning. The young mehandor’s choice seemed to agree with him. 

The while Cunor composed himself, closing his eyes and taking deep and slowing breaths. He stood very still and did not move either when the first low notes stole into the air, deceptively soft and gentle, not at all as dynamic as the first cadence would be. Slowly the young mehandor’s hands began to move with the sound, tenderly following and forming in the air what one perceived as little waves and soft rippling of music.

Then, with an almost frightening boom, the drums cut in and the castanets followed with their short and sharp sounds while the pipes in the background started the melody.

Atlan stepped forward into what he imagined as a floor covered with water, where every beat of the drums left a ripple, and every step of his threw up a small fountain and line of drops which tinkled back into the sheen of the liquid, almost unheard but ineradicably there, undercurrents of feelings suddenly coming up and sparkling while they were disturbed and evoked by the hard beats of his heart shuddering through his body.

The young mehandor’s feet had begun to move, taking simple steps first, back and forth, sideways and to the other side, easy and regularly like a heart beating. He wore no classic step dancer's shoes, but still his ubiquitous spacer’s boots, and so the beat of his feet did not sound as distinctly and loudly on the gym’s floor. But these steps could be heard well enough still, a rhythm first following the growing speed of the piece of music, then accompanying it, and now almost thwarting it, fighting it in a kind of twisted mirror mode, letting a feeling of unrest and disturbance grow in the on-lookers, who were half the members of the wenadoran by now. And the others were drawn too to watch this unfamiliar but quite fascinating performance, quietly coming down the steps and keeping to the back of the room. The spacer boy still moved with eyes closed. What did he see, before his inner sight? His family dying and perishing, or the fights he had gone through? The depth of space which almost had swallowed him up, or perhaps what he feared to come at him in the future? Or what he must do in the time to come, fight and perhaps kill and for sure going after his enemies who had destroyed his ship and murdered his family?

Cunor’s face showed some tension now, though it appeared calm enough still. The steps became stronger and swifter, and more complicated, and were one with the beat of the rhythm of V’angheliss’ composition now. Having danced just upon one spot before, Cunor began to slowly turn and spread his arms wider, shoulders and hands beginning to move swifter, fingers snapping to the beat.

Suddenly a sharper turn and twist out of his knees came, and another, while his feet continued to tap out the speedy rhythm of the melody. A short jump followed, knees going one side and the shoulders another, the legs coming down starting short kicks while the feet went on with their steps and taps, harder and harder. From Cunor’s closed eyes a tear came leaking and another, but the face still looked rather calm and for sure showed no grimace of anger and hate. Not fear then or aggressiveness firing his new friend’s emotions, Rhonn thought, deeply touched, but mourning for what he had lost, for the death of his beloved ones. The young merchanter’s feet were coming down hard and loud now in a beating staccato, a rhythm that spoke more of firm resolve than strong abandonment. No matter what, the young Makarsan instinctively realized, Cunor Lant’cer was determined to keep control still, as much as he was aiming at letting go of some of his feelings. For that he was much too disciplined, something he must have been trained for from the earliest infancy. In space, one could not afford to mess up, the mehan’ lad had said. One either got it right the first time, or one might not get it right at all. The Maahks and the icy void between the stars did not offer second chances, most times. They killed instead, fire and ice taking lives mercilessly, a thing a planet-dweller, in all his squalor safe upon a warmed and living planet, could not easily imagine.

Cunor should not be alone. He should feel that he had friends now and a new kind of family, who would step out with him and go with him on his way. No matter that he could not follow and mimic those steps of the young merchanter, Rhonn thought, he could add his own simpler but powerful rhythm, and did so, facing their new mate at a safe distance. Karena followed, her own face wet with tears, her heart going out to Cunor quite clearly, her skill matching Cunor’s closer than anyone else’s in the wenadoran could. With grim determination and a faithfully supporting tap Aday came in after the girl. The others kept to their positions at the walls, but they clapped and softly stamped to the rhythm now.

Atlan felt it. He was Under, even deeper than he had planned or thought he could go, moving like this, dancing to a lively kind of music. But having concentrated on his feelings and emotions, which he had ignored and purposefully shut away before, he had fallen into a quite different kind of rapture than one felt in calm meditation. He was riding crashing waves of emotions now, sorrow, anger, pain, even desperation-and as desperately he still had to hold on, had to keep control of those feelings.

Luckily, even if they were no longer controlled by the psychic patterns and imaginary projections he had set up in meditation before, they were contained in the patterns of the dance, which were no less powerful because his body was turning and following the moves and patterns that were created this way, channeling and steering the waves of emotions, letting him ride them instead of making him drown.

Letting his emotions surface and come up like this he would have lost control for sure else. But this way, he could not be overpowered by the powers he felt, by his emotions which he sensed and experienced so intensely. Instead of taking control of him, these feelings were moved on by every twist of his shoulders, every throwing move of his arms and hands, measured and taken apart, and gotten rid of by every snap of his fingers. The same went for the turns of his hips and the kicks of his legs. Desperation, pain, and anger were stamped and smashed with every hard and forceful step of his feet, down into the ground. He would have floundered and drowned within these crashing waves. But with the music establishing the pattern with its rhythms and his body and feet moving to it, stamping with the beat of the drums, turning and twisting and jumping with the sound, following the run of the melody, this was the pattern they all were held to, his feelings and his body and he, experiencing and feeling all of this, the sensation of heart and mind so intense it became a strong physical perception, so forceful he could have screamed with it.

Instead, he let his tears run down his cheeks and put his feelings into his steps and the movements of his body. And it became more bearable with the khela. The impression of helplessness and loneliness which had gotten hold of him before, the young prince knew, had given way to other emotions and sensations.

Because he was alone no longer. He had been watched before, but Rhonn had taken part of this dance, and so had Karena and another one of the boys, could be Aday, while the others seemingly had taken their places along the wall, having joined the music and its harmony no less, participating in their own way. Atlan did not dare to open his eyes. He wanted to stay where he was and deal with himself and his emotions as he needed to do it so desperately and had to stay Under and in relative control as long as this dance, and this exercise and moving meditation were lasting. 

They were dancing and moving with him, becoming connected to him by the music and the steps, drums, and taps making another and new kind of pattern and sound. There were physical support and harmony in this. He had invested the energy of his actions and visions in the pattern and powers of the universe, but more precisely, in this wenadoran and its members in this district of the city of Makarsa on the planet of Tela-vhelor, beneath the light of a sun named Ithral and near to Tranta system on the one side and Toulminth, and its sun Ovendeno, on the other.  
And now the universe was reacting, giving back some of the energies to him, having transformed them into something new, and wonderful. He was alone no longer. He had friends. He was being supported, and cared for, and liked. It was a gift.

The piece ended to a finale of clashing of cymbals and thundering of drums, the sound seeming to echo around and around in the gym for at least another khela as they came to a standstill, almost feeling dazed.

Cunor was opening his eyes at long last. They glowed a deep red, and though his face was wet he was smiling, very clearly feeling relaxed and well, even happy.

“Thank you all for your friendship and support”, he said simply, giving them one of his elegant and impressive bows.

“Gods, Cunor”, Rhonn said, almost gruffly, and went forward to throw his arms around the young mehandor’s shoulders, hugging him hard. Karena followed, kissing the youth quite lovingly, and then came Aday, grinning like a loon and hugging their new friend no less strongly.

It was a moment of simple and plain joy and harmony. The painful emotions having cleared out made for an intense feeling of contentment and peace, an experience that came as a surprise to Atlan. He had not expected to feel that, after what he had gone through, and desperately had kept control of, shutting his feelings away as well as he could. Gods. This was a gift indeed. Smiling, the young prince hugged his new friends one by one and felt almost happy for a short time. These friends he had won by his own actions and commitment, and not because they would obey duty or venerated the Tai Moas and his family, a position the Gos athor was born to not by any merit of his own. This support he had won by himself, by the actions and daring and the risk a boy named Atlan had taken and had acted upon. 

Getting to sera Krenna’s in a hurry after, gulping down a stuffed roll on the way and crudely drinking directly from a flask of slightly sourly flavoured water, he was almost late. Almost only, thanks to the Gods, running through the gate on the stroke of the timer, huffing with the exertion of having come down from the station in a straight run. Sukkar sent his young colleague a long look and wordlessly handed him his data card, telling him what was to be done. A number of gadgets had been set aside on the mehan’s board, as it had become to be called, and Atlan sat down at the working table in a hurry, and grabbed for the scanner. When the boss looked in a few khelas later, everyone was at work with concentration, conversing on their tasks in necessary spatters and no more. After the recent altercations, they had to get on with work, and to deal with quite a back-log due to a very good order situation, thanks to the Gods. The young prince felt content and glad here too, he realized. That dance had worked wonders, and would not have been the last one!

“Cunor-did you know that Cymira ta-Ghirmo is going to wed Kelese ta-Amonte? The same man whose sister married Eshko da Metzat the last Tai-Votan?”

They were all alone, and in this rare moment Crest tec’ Gonozal did not address his elder brother as formally and carefully according to the protocol as he painstakingly did else.

With eyebrows raised the Imperator of the Tai Ark’ Tussan looked up at his agitated brother and gestured invitingly.

“Take a seat, Crest, take a breath and tell me in detail. No, I didn’t know.” 

“Yet you don’t seem to be too surprised.” With a grimace, the Tai Mascant laid a data crystal on the desk in front of his brother with a precise click and sat.

“Surprise would be the wrong word. Mekron kel’ Dermitron has informed me of rumours about the morals of the Ta-Amonte heir and his sister some time ago. The alliance, though, does surprise me. A drink?”

“A drop of something a little stronger, yes, please. I feel I need it.”

Cunor da Gonozal ordered from the servobot and had it bring some refreshments too.

Sending a long look at his brother the Imperator remarked:” I hear you are readying yourself for a duel?”

Now Crest lifted a brow. “You seem to disapprove, zhdopanthi?” There was a faintly sarcastic tone in the voice of the always so correct Tai Mascant. He knocked off the small glass of Namahoora and refilled it. Cunor da Gonozal frowned. 

“A few pragos ago you gave that already famous interview, Crest. That was excellent work and will be called a historical moment in later times, I am sure. But this-I believe to be a less excellent move. “

Crest grimaced. “That speech of mine took place precisely four pragos after Atlan’s disappearance. Now it has been for precisely eight pragos that he is missing, and we haven’t yet got a sure lead to the perpetrators of this evil deed, let alone that we would know where to even start looking for our Gos athor, for my son, zhdopanthi! I find that I am beginning to care less and less for excellency if I could get better efficiency out of everything! But no, we must heed politics and tread carefully, always, to keep the peace and all its damned pretensions. That shalluc can insinuate himself into your office, brother, while you, for peace’s sake, decide but to fume quietly, his daughter in your arms, he can slander our brother and have Remarol go over Upoc’s apartment, he can refuse an impressive lot of search warrants due to his position as your father in law, zhdopanthi, while you had the Kralas Sen and the Golamo go through our Khasurn and through Ragnaari’s most closely. Very good, on the one hand, because now we can be sure of our family and of mother’s. Very bad, on the other, because you have not forced a like investigation upon Orcast! Cousin Makhal stands With Cup Ready. I trust you know that, brother! If he Pours the Cup we’re all in for it, and you would have to follow suit within the tonta, for mother’s sake. Not that I would mind, of course. Ramoros and his Mathamnara, that example of a carrion-stinking thrai, have had it coming for too long a time now. I swear that I will have his blood on my blade, sooner or later! Gods hear me!”

The Tai Mascant downed his second glass and stretched out his hand for the flask for a third, and then checked, frowning. His extra brain must have warned him against imbibing and losing control too much.

The Imperator frowned deeper. “I trust that the Laktrote da Orcast is not unaware of your feelings, Crest”, he said coolly.” You have a tendency lately to express them unequivocally and more obtrusively. Yet I must warn you as clearly. We cannot afford to go at each other’s throats during these times of war, and the less now in this crisis or your son’s, and my nephew’s, abduction. Gods, Crest, I worry for him no less than you! He isn’t only your son and heir, he is mine too! Apart from the fact that we love him and care for him as the person he is, as the dear child we have known from the tonta of his birth!”

“Atlan is a child no longer.” The Tai Mascant stared bleakly ahead of himself. “At least so our blue-frocks have warned me. And so has Yagthara. She says that with experiences like the ones our son has had to go through there is no chance he wasn’t touched and changed profoundly by them. “

Sighing the Imperator inclined his head. He knew. “And how is she?” he asked simply.

“Well enough. Buries herself in work where and when she can and uses a lot of her time to comfort Merikana. And me. And late at night in my arms, she cries a lot.”

“Gods. Zhymelesa.”

“So do I.” Crest da Gonozal raised his eyes to his brother’s shocked look. “Not for times as long. But I’ve had a few crying bouts I’d call intense, these pragos, late at night when only my wife can hear or see me. Realizing what Atlan must have seen and heard, what he must have gone through, watching the people closest to him die, the people he loved best, who had been with him since his birth-I do not think that I can imagine at all what must be going on with him. He has been trained to fight, to open doors and locks-we thought that a useful concession to his adventurous spirit. Now it might be essential, no, vital for him. What has he done? We have not heard from the abductors yet. Mekron is sure that Atlan threw some stunt and that they might not have him in their hands at the moment. But is this true? What if a lethal accident has befallen him? Or if not, what if he has been injured permanently?  
How is he at the moment, inside? Is he treated well by his environment, or is he being abused, even hurt? Gods, I could go mad over this if I did not have my logic sector to pull me out of my emotional swamp repeatedly! 

And with all of this on my mind, on my heart, I am to smile to the shalluc and am to bow nicely, am I? Gods-I know that you are right, brother, politically. I know that we cannot afford a deep rift between factions at Court. But it already exists, doesn’t it? It’s just covered, a bit better this prago and a bit less on another, or you wouldn’t have to stay unwed yourself, zhdopanthi. Orcast is not our enemy, not now, and not yet. He doesn’t go against our Khasurn in general, of course not, he’s a good friend and ally. He just goes against certain individuals, like Upoc and Asmayra, and later he will do his best to go against Thyri, as you must know, zhdopanthi. So he is not our enemy, as such.  
But he might become it, and so we dance along the line and smile and are lenient, and the shalluc thinks he can afford to take this tug at the line and that one, because we still stay smiling, don’t we?”

Taking the flask of water instead of the green one the Tai Mascant poured a glass for his brother, who took it wordlessly and filled one for himself too.

“It is a fact that Ramoros da Orcast is my father-in-law”, the Imperator answered.” This is how I keep him by my side, and how it stays in his very own interest to exclusively support me and our politics, without going off and mixing a drink within his own cup.” 

Crest da Gonozal snorted depreciatively. “So how many cups already mixed, drunk, and poured would we find if we truly opened his kitchen, zhdopanthi? That’s what this is all about in the end, isn’t it? We cannot afford to force his Khasurn’s gates fully open because then he’d stand revealed of all his mixing, apart from what his good wife has been at all the time, putting real poisons into too many cups. I fully understand. He’d fight us all the way then, and we’d have that war of factions in our lap the moment we turn around.”

“Gods. Crest.” The Imperator frowned deeply, but gave no comment further, which prompted his brother to another jibe.

“But we already have these factions ready to declare their colours, paint their faces and go at each other, haven’t we? Apart from the fact that they are shifting, alliances changing too fast to be kept track of easily. The war we fight with the Maahks has put an end to a lot of internal trouble, and has had several trouble mixers come to their senses, might the Gods be thanked. But it has given others too long a line, and we cannot be as diligent with watching everything as we could be before. Personal indulgences and excesses here and there can be tolerated and are but a reaction to fear and pain, Yagthara reminds me. Accepted. But single men committing fraud, stealing money from the state, Tatos misusing their power, filling their own pockets and cheating the Empire, halfway becoming dictators-haven’t we had a significant increase of such cases, of whose number several were treated at Celkar and executed with the news attending Empire-wide? You have implemented harsher law according to the need of these times, and that has proven to be both necessary and useful and has kept true chaos at bay. Our peoples have in general ceased their internal strife and fighting each other. A common enemy unites, which is the only positive ingredient of the drink in the cup the Maahks are serving us. But in a war such as this, there are the inevitable shortages and slip-ups, shortfalls in supplies, and public services. Restrictions of public rights here and there, of trade, of travel have become commonplace, apart from the severe losses we suffer of people, resources and goods, exploding and burning to nothing in the fire of the Maahkath guns. We try to compensate and recuperate our losses, and we are doing well and as well as it is possible at all, the public reassures us. Good and fine. We must all hang on to one line and pull at it in concert, we know it. And knowing it, men like Ramoros, trusting in the need you have to keep the peace and get everyone to pull in that harmonious common effort, mix their own cups and smile into your face, believing that you cannot put him to the task and cannot afford to have him face the consequences of his actions. “

“Gods! Crest! That’s enough!”

Cunor da Gonozal was truly irritated now. 

“Yes, I perfectly agree, my Imperator. It’s enough in truth. It was enough before, in my eyes, but there still was the memory of Farnathia, and the pain of the tragedy striking you, and the fact that you had to cope with too many matters to have you deal with such a duct full of slime-bekkars additionally. But those bekkars are escaping down other ducts now, and our Eldrith are seeing that, are watching that. How long till they think that if old Ramoros can get away with his mixing, they might too? How long till Baylamor da Zoltral believes that what Orcast is due his Khasurn should be granted as well? Quertamagin has stepped forward on his own, proud of his Bond with us. Ragnaari and Gonozal have been searched thoroughly. What will they think now, seeing that even if you order Remarol past Orcast’s gates the old shalluc can still come up with exceptions and protests and can have search warrants fought and canceled on flimsy privileges of rank and title and grants some Tai Moas gave his own father-in-law thousands of Tai-Votani ago? Terfkonon da Orcast is one of Celkar’s highest-ranking judges, is he not? He’s an overall honest, painstaking, and diligent man, agreed on beforehand. But whom else could the old shalluc have asked on the run to produce a few swift juridical stop-gaps to save the bekkars in his Khasurn in danger to be exposed, scampering for cover? If you question Zoltral, and with this new development you will have to, dear brother, then Baylamor can with some right on his side ask you to treat everyone equally, and smile to him refusing as well, since you take Orcast’s games with the same smile.”

“Enough, I said! You are out of order, Tai Mascant!”

Crest took a deep breath and sat back, dropping his gaze and biting his lip.

“Yes, you are right, zhdopanthi. Forgive me. I truly am out of my order. I find myself on a path I haven’t known before. In this, I am drawn after my son, whose path has changed so dramatically as well. But please, Cunor-put an end to Orcast’s antics. He and the fact that he can get away with far too much is the worst example you can set our Court. At least when really big matters will be found by Remarol, and I am perfectly sure that those are to be found, stop being lenient, and use these matters to cut Orcast down to a size acceptable, and palpable, to us all, or he will grow out of all bounds in truth and truly become inviolable to law and order. If you want to keep the harmony and the peace, you have to. I implore you, zhdopanthi.” He bowed deeply and ceremoniously in sitting.

Cunor da Gonozal reached out and took his brother’s hand, looking into his eyes.

“I will, Crest, I promise. Rest assured too that you did not tell me things I have not pondered myself, before. I have kept up my façade of leniency for the sake of peace and harmony up to now, you are right. But the moment I can and am backed by proof and evidence, I will act and make use of what Remarol hands me. Only-Crest, as the Tai Moas I must be just in all things, and cannot listen to rumors without facts backing them. I cannot partake in the wrestling of factions but must stay neutral. If you have proof of something, hand it to me. If not, let be, please. Why should this matter of the impending betrothal of Cymira ta-Ghirmo be of any significance to me?”

With a grimace, the Tai Mascant answered. 

“Kelese ta-Amonte is a frequent drinking companion of Lefkho da Merrit.”

“Kelese ta-Amonte is a frequent drinking companion of several men, as I recall”, the Imperator retorted, frowning.

“Lefkho da Merrit has won the love of Ashmolea da Orcast.”

Cunor da Gonozal coughed and raised a brow. “This is the first time I notice you following rumors of that kind, Crest. Apart from the fact that this isn’t a rumor I’d have heard of or been informed of, and I haven’t thought myself served sloppily concerning vital information.”

“I doubt that the Services have learned of this yet.”

“And you have?” Imperator Gonozal the seventh could not avoid a short chuckle. But underneath his amusement, his attention had sharpened. It was not necessary to point out to him the significance of that relationship if it were true. There, in the hand of Kelese ta-Amonte, heir to his house and, his loose morals notwithstanding, in his position secure and influential, a connection and line bound to several people lay. An Orcast lady, a cousin far removed from the main line, but the more dependent upon the goodwill of the Khasurn Laktrote, a lady of ta-Ghirmo who was grand-niece to one Moryty da Zoltral and who might be heir to her resentments and the knife carrying her revenge against Gonozal, and the second son of Metzat married to ta-Amonte’s sister. Metzat, the family who had become the murderers of a whole generation of Gonozal princes before, including the Tai Moas of his time as well.

“That was more than four thousand Tai-Votani ago”, Cunor’s logic sector threw in, doubtfully. “There was no indication up to now that Metzat would plan anything against your family, or be disloyal to the Tai Ark’Tussan at all. On the contrary. Metzat, though they won the throne after they had killed your ancestors, paid very heavily for their deed to keep their prize and their status at all. The perpetrators themselves died spectacularly as well; and neither have you been careless about having them watched, and they know it. For the Metzat Khasurn to take up the cup, and begin to mix a poisonous drink for you, or offer it to your young nephew, makes no sense and is thoroughly illogical. If they were found out, their whole Khasurn would be annihilated by law, and no voice in the Tai Than would gainsay that fate.”

“Not I. But Frantomor kel’Falthaym has.”

Now Cunor’s elegant white brows were up in truth. “Oh. Cymira ta-Ghirmo, you said? This might not be as senseless a matter, then. But neither might it have grown a root into the Khasurn da Metzat. This might be a coincidence-“

The Imperator fell silent, thinking hard. His brother grimaced and smiled ironically. 

“Da Merrit is a Tai Khasurn, is closely connected to the Ghirmo branch of Zoltral, and has been a wenareth Khasurn of Zoltral for more than three thousand Tai-Votani now. How much would you bet on this matter being a coincidence, my Imperial brother?”

Their gazes met in perfect understanding.

“Not even a bekkar’s tail.”


End file.
